


Per Ardua Ad Astra

by S_Faith



Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), My OG OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: A lot can happen in nine months… or twenty years… or a week.
Relationships: Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard
Comments: 27
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words in this order.
> 
> Takes place after the events of _Star Trek: Picard_ , season 1, so obviously there are spoilers for that to follow. At present, season 2 is in production, or pre-production, or something. But it _definitely_ hasn't aired at the time I'm writing this / posting this, so bear this in mind if you're reading this in a future where season 2 (or beyond) has aired.
> 
> Special thanks to [Memory Alpha](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Portal:Main), without whom I could not have written this. So much easier to write this fandom now with a resource like this. Back in the day, you had to commit episode details to memory, make your own timelines, and check the (paper!) [_Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Trek:_The_Next_Generation_Technical_Manual). And you prayed for a rerun of the episode you most need to see (if you didn't tape it the last time it was on), until the physical video release came out (and early days was VHS only). No streaming services; no DVRs. It was the frickin' Stone Age.
> 
> Thanks, too, to Una McCormack's excellent novel _[The Last Best Hope](https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Star-Trek-Picard-The-Last-Best-Hope/Una-McCormack/Star-Trek-Picard/9781982139445)_ , which fills in some of the pre- _Picard_ history, though I am making a few adjustments to a very _specific_ history. Because spoiler alert: there's not enough Beverly in it.
> 
> Additional content warning note: There is a reference to suicide (the same one referred to in _ST: Picard_ ). Just a heads up for those who are affected by such things.

### Present day (2399), USS _Mae Jemison_

Nine months.

Beverly Crusher felt like she and the crew of her science vessel had finally birthed their research baby. For the first time in nine months, they could rest at last, could take a break from the cycle of constant monitoring, data collection, and decision-making based on preliminary results. For now, though, they were stuck in a sort of limbo; the civilizations on an M-class planet nearest to the subject of their study were verging on space travel and likely could have detected subspace communications, which was an absolute no-no before first contact. Until the ship had put enough distance behind itself, it was just too risky to break radio silence to communicate data back to Starfleet, to plan a well-deserved shore leave, to read missives from home.

As badly as she was itching to catch up on the inevitable backlog that awaited her, primarily about what had been happening with friends and colleagues in the Alpha Quadrant, she would just have to be patient. Until then, she could sit down with a glass of wine and dinner, watch an old film, maybe read a good book…

She sighed, too restless for any of this. "Computer. Time until we're clear of subspace communication range of M-97402-Beta."

The computer chirped to indicate it was working, before responding: "Information about navigational positioning is currently restricted to on-duty bridge crew."

 _I'm never going to get used to this new computer voice_ , she thought, not for the first time. "Override, authorization code Crusher-2-2-Beta-Charlie."

"Override authorization denied."

Her brows raised to impressive heights. "I'm the damn _captain_ ," she said impatiently.

"Affirmative," replied the computer.

She blew air out through her lips then slapped her comm badge. "Commander Agarwal." Her first officer did not respond. "Lieutenant Commander Medina." Curiously, her second officer also did not respond; an unexpected voice did instead.

"Captain Crusher." It was Chief Medical Officer Alyssa Ogawa's voice, cool and firm. "You are under strict instruction to relax. As your CMO, let me remind—"

"I am all too familiar," she interrupted testily, "with what it's like to try to relieve a stubborn captain of duty for medical rest." She then sighed, her voice turning from frustration to one of pleading. "I'm just starting to feel like a pea in a tin can, rattling around restlessly. I _just_ want to know when we can re-establish communications with Earth."

"Beverly. Give me a moment." The CMO's voice was suddenly gentle, as she slid smoothly between professional and personal. They had, after all, known each other for thirty-plus years, and had served together for many of those years. Alyssa Ogawa had proven to be equally a talented medical practitioner—first as a nurse, then as a doctor—and a great friend. Alyssa's tone was even more hushed as she went on: "We've got at least eight hours before we're far enough away from the planet to reach out to Starfleet."

She whistled. "That long?"

"Yes." After a pause, she continued, "I'm coming off-duty in thirty. I'll stop by."

Beverly smiled, suspecting that she would suggest they have dinner and watch something to pass the time; activities that were always preferable with company. "I'd like that. Thanks. Crusher out."

She had a quick sonic shower—thinking all the while that she looked forward to standing under a pounding stream of hot water on Earth—then changed out of her uniform and into something more casual and suitable for off-duty relaxation; namely, her favorite oat-colored linen shift and trousers from the artisans on Caldos IV, delicate vines of gold and emerald embroidery along each of the hems. She settled onto her sofa with a mug of tea, set it on the low table before her, then sat back to consider what they might have for supper.

The chiming of her door woke her from an unexpected nap. She blinked a few times, noticed the tea was no longer steaming. _Must have been more tired than I thought_. "Enter," said Beverly. As expected, it was Alyssa. 

"Sorry, I must have dozed off," Beverly said, getting to her feet.

"If you'd rather pass…"

"No, no, I still need to eat, and it'll be nice not to eat alone."

Alyssa smiled, then came in; the doors closed behind her. "So, have you decided what to have?"

They both agreed that a batch of spaghetti Bolognese and fresh bread would do nicely, and paired it with a decent red wine, or as decent a red wine that the replicators could conjure. Beverly asked Alyssa all about her plans for when they returned to Earth—spending time with her child and grandchildren, as it turned out—all the while deftly avoiding explaining what she had planned for herself. Beverly knew that the inevitable questions would come up, and she did not want to answer them. Honestly, she didn't know _how_ to answer them; she simply hadn't given much thought to what she planned, beyond a hot shower.

Returning to Earth was always so problematic.

……

Her thoughts, as they often did when her destination was Earth, turned to him. It was easy while out in the black to think about her research, about being a leader and a commander, someone her crew looked to for guidance… but ending a mission and returning home for leave? Oh, it was impossible to _not_ consider her complicated personal life.

To love someone so much that it becomes untenable to stay and watch that person self-destruct, to see them change from the vibrant, curious, inquisitive person they once were, to a bitter, defeated person waiting for death… difficult did not begin to explain it. While leaving him for the stars may have seemed heartless, like she no longer loved him or cared for him, it was actually just a matter of her own self-preservation. Nothing she could have said would have changed his mind; it hadn't yet. If insanity was doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results, then she had no wish to drive herself insane.

For a man as brilliant as he was, he could be so incredibly thick-headed. She couldn't fault his stubbornness, however, because it was a stubbornness only surpassed by her own.

### Twenty years earlier (2379)

It had been long overdue.

Over the previous fifteen years, Beverly had sat beside Deanna Troi on the long, figurative rollercoaster ride of her relationship with William T. Riker, a relationship that had come to fruition at last. She had been at Deanna's side today, too, as her maid of honor.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard was her counterpart as Riker's best man; the irony was not lost on Beverly. She'd been on a rollercoaster of her own with the man for years, from shortly after her arrival on the _Enterprise-D_ , through their various ordeals, and through to the present on the _Enterprise-E_.

Soon, though, everything would change, because also long overdue was Riker accepting a promotion to captain a ship of his own. He would soon assume control of the USS _Titan_ , and of course, Deanna would join him there. 

The wedding had, therefore, been a bittersweet occasion. Mostly a happy one, of course, but every new chapter meant the end of the old one, and she felt a trepidation about what would the new chapter would bring for her. She'd spent the last fifteen years serving with Jean-Luc, developing a close friendship; he was her confidante, and she, his. It was familiar. Comfortable. But now she was wondering if she shouldn't have taken the leap when he'd extended the offer to share something more with him. Her deep but complicated feelings for him had not changed; she was fairly sure that his had not either. Although she was not leaving the _Enterprise_ , the uncertainty of the future in front of them unsettled her. She was careful not to let it show.

She had become very good at that.

She'd had at least a source of moral support with her that day: her son, Wesley, whose respect and affection for the major father figure in his life had only grown over the years. How had Wes gone from a gawky boy to a thirty-year-old lieutenant junior grade officer, seemingly before her very eyes? She had supported him through every phase of his life, from his proverbial gap year away with The Traveler, through his return to Starfleet Academy to become a full-fledged Starfleet officer. She was proud of him, and she knew his father would have been exceedingly proud, too. The rest of his _Enterprise_ family felt the same way, Captain Picard included.

"Penny for your thoughts," a voice intruded on her reverie.

She looked up from where she sat at the head table, and smiled; the man himself, Jean-Luc, stood there, before taking his seat beside her again. Her gaze traveled to where Wesley sat in conversation with Geordi LaForge and Guinan, as others danced to the smooth jazz that permeated the air.

"Ah, Wesley," said Jean-Luc, genuine warmth imbuing his voice. "I'm so glad he could make it."

"Me too," she said, turning to him once more. "It just seemed _right_ for him to be here. The crew he knew and loved as a child, together for the last time."

Jean-Luc nodded, a pensive, almost wistful expression crossing his features. "The end of an era," he murmured. "Well. Once we travel to Betazed for Will and Deanna's ceremony there."

She smirked, thinking of the Betazoid tradition that called for no speeches… and no clothes. "What a way to end it," she said. She caught the hint of a smile from him.

"Why don't you and I have a dance?" he suggested, catching her off-guard. He added quickly, "In the spirit of the occasion."

She knew he was not usually inclined to dancing; her thoughts traveled back to the Picard imposter with whom she had once shared a romantic evening and slow dance, which had very much surprised her at the time, and which she had very much enjoyed in the moment (until, of course, he had abruptly left). His suggestion now, however, seemed almost a request to satisfy the expectations of others. She felt more than a bit deflated.

"I think it'd prove a disappointment to all if we didn't," she said.

They rose to their feet and he took her hand, then he took the lead; his left hand cradled her right, and the other sat at her waist. She picked up on his cues and followed smoothly. She quickly found herself enjoying their dance immensely, and could not suppress the smile on her face. If his own smile was anything to go by, he was enjoying it too; she was never more happy to be wrong about his motivations. The resulting lovely, perfect, all-too-brief moment made her immeasurably happy.

The song concluded, and all dancers paused to offer polite applause.

"I'm game for another if you are," he said, surprising her yet again.

"I am," she said brightly, before she could put any rational thought into what another dance with a man who didn't like to dance might signify.

The next song was a bit slower in tempo, and while they started with the traditional lead/follow stance, it quickly collapsed. He drew towards him the hand he clasped, slipped his other hand from her hip to encircle an arm around her waist, and pulled her closer.

She had to admit, it felt nice. Familiar. And yes, comfortable; that word again. On the cusp of so much change, she wanted to grasp it— _him_ —tightly to her for as long as she could. She closed her eyes and swayed with him in perfect time.

The collective, polite applause at the end of the song brought her abruptly from her thoughts. She turned her head as she stepped back, and caught the last, fleeting remnant of a curious expression on his own face—one of contentment, of pleasure.

One that matched her own.

"That was very nice," she said quietly. "We should have done that a lot sooner."

He nodded, seemed to be about to say something more, but the announcement of the cutting of the cake rang out, and the moment was lost. 

Beverly brought her small square of chocolate cake back to her seat at the head table, along with a delicious cup of freshly brewed coffee. Within a few minutes, Jean-Luc joined her with cake and coffee of his own.

"I'd expect nothing less of a wedding cake for Deanna Troi," he said with some amusement in his tone, referring to the flavor of the cake. She smiled, slightly bewildered; had they actually shared that dance, or had she hallucinated the whole thing?

"It's very good," she said, not missing a beat. "And you forget how much better real coffee is compared to the replicated stuff until you have it again, don't you?"

He smiled fondly, nodding, sipping from his own cup. 

The return of the rest of the head table meant they had no opportunity to talk further to each other, during dessert or otherwise. Wesley came to say his goodbyes near the closing of the evening, and Beverly rose to embrace him.

"Thanks for inviting me," he said to her.

"I'm so glad you were able to make it, Wes."

When they stepped apart, Jean-Luc was right there to offer a handshake to Wesley, then a quick hug. To him, Wesley said, referring to his mother, "Keep on taking care of her, will you, sir?"

He chuckled. "I think we all know she can more than take care of herself," he said, then offered to accompany Wesley back to the transporter hub.

Beverly knew he'd meant nothing hurtful by his words, but something about the way he'd said it bothered her. Really, _really_ bothered her. Did he really believe she didn't need anyone else? Didn't need _him_?

Within a few minutes of Wesley's departure, she found herself saying her own goodbyes, telling Deanna and Will how happy she was for them both, but the curious expression on Deanna's face told Beverly that her own emotions were closer to the surface than she would have liked. There was nothing to be done about it; she was not about to ruin Deanna's wedding night with an impromptu chat about her own complicated love life. Rather, the lack thereof.

She went to the ladies' room to afford herself some privacy for her departure; with the _Enterprise-E_ in orbit over Alaska, it was merely a matter of touching her comm badge and requesting that they beam her back up, and she always felt a bit self-conscious disappearing from the middle of a social gathering that way. Within moments, she was back in her quarters and slipping out of her dress uniform. 

After a brief sonic shower, she tied her robe closed, then picked up a hairbrush to pull it through her collar-length hair. "Tea," she said aloud, "Chamomile. Hot." As she walked over to replicator to gather it up, the chime on her door sounded.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

Jean-Luc Picard hardly needed to announce himself by name. She would have been able to pick his voice out of any crowd, and he knew it.

"May I come in?" he continued.

"Oh, of course. Enter."

The doors parted, and he stepped in; he seemed to be surprised by the fact that she was already in a dressing gown, had a freshly washed face, and had moved on to tea. With her expression alone she asked what she could do for him. His own expression was sepulchral.

"I returned to the reception and you'd gone," he said.

"I was tired," she said, fully aware that she sounded a bit defensive. 

"If I have managed to offend you, Beverly, I am deeply sorry."

She waved her hand to suggest he shouldn't give it another thought.

"No, no, please know I would never intentionally do or say anything to upset you."

"I know," she said quietly.

"As soon as I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say," he went on—for he could read her almost as easily as Deanna could—then sighed. "Of course you can take care of yourself, but I hope you know you don't have to. I am always here if you need me."

She nodded, and again said in that same tone, "I know." 

He stepped closer. "What's wrong, then?" he asked, his voice laden with concern. 

There was no point in not telling him, not at this crossroads in life. She turned to set her teacup down, met his gaze, then spoke. "I am so happy, of course, for Will and Deanna. He has earned a captaincy many times over, their marriage is a natural progression, and they deserve their happy ending. But also, selfishly, I wish they weren't leaving us. So I know full well that you're there for me… until the day comes when you're not."

He did not hide the pain in his eyes. That he did not even try to hide it sparked a hope in her, of sorts. "Oh, Beverly. I have left things unsaid for far too long," he said somberly. "I mean to remedy that, right now. I would have after we danced, but—"

"The cake," she said.

"Yes. And perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, because the privacy of your quarters is much preferred for this conversation."

She may have been standing still, but for a moment she very nearly lost her footing. Her thoughts were in a whirl; she felt her heart start to race.

He continued. "Nine years ago, you said to me that we should perhaps be afraid to explore possibilities beyond friendship, and I was willing to accept your wishes." She lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling broadsided. Nine years. Had it really been _nine years_? "Beverly." She looked to him again. "If you still have no interest in me beyond our friendship, say the word right now, and I will _never_ mention it again. But if you have changed your mind—and I think given our dance tonight, you may have done—I… I must insist we not delay it further. I still feel for you what I've always felt for you. That isn't going to change. This milestone, this end of an era, underscores to me that time is all too fleeting. I mean to make the most of the time I have left, with you, if you'll have me." 

The desperation of his expression, the emotion in his voice—it broke her heart. Any resistance that she might have felt crumbled in the face of his impromptu, impassioned words, but in all honesty, there was no resistance left to crumble. She could not even remember her exact reasons for rejecting him all of those years ago, beyond being afraid of ruining what was familiar and routine. How had he not shut her out of his personal life altogether? She was grateful for his forbearance.

Calmly, she drew in a breath, meeting his gaze again. "I don't know what to say," she began, "except that I'd be a _fool_ not to have you."

She was not sure if she had moved forward to meet him, or he had moved to her, but within seconds, they were in each other's arms and their lips came together with the pent-up passion of decades. Every kiss was a miracle; every caress, a blessing. She savored it all.

His first words in the afterglow, curled in his warm embrace and spoken softly in a warm breath close to her ear, were to propose that they marry; naturally, she thought he was just suffused with endorphins in the heat of it all, and didn't take him at all seriously.

Within a few days, the sudden change of plans to an urgent mission to Romulus and the events that occurred with Praetor Shinzon put the second, traditional Betazoid ceremony on hold. At the conclusion of the events involving Shinzon—notably among them, Data's heart-wrenching sacrifice—Jean-Luc proved that he'd meant that proposal in earnest by suggesting it again.

As she'd said before, she'd be a fool not to have him.

………

By the time Captain Will Riker and Commander Deanna Troi had their Betazoid ceremony a few months after the wedding on Earth, Beverly and Jean-Luc had already been quietly married in a small ceremony on board _Enterprise-E_. While they still served together on that ship, everything was wonderful. Perfect.

This wonderful perfection only lasted for two years.

In 2381, when the Romulans let it be known that the star their planet orbited was on track to go supernova, everything went to hell; for the Romulans, of course, but especially it went to hell for them. 

It wasn't his promotion to admiral that had done it, but it was a first step of many in that disastrous direction, because it meant that they had to be separated while he led the evacuation efforts of the Romulan people. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to her in person; she continued to serve as the Chief Medical Officer on the _Enterprise-E_ under Worf. She did not fault Jean-Luc for accepting the mission, because he had been the perfect person to do it and quite probably the _only_ person who could have gotten it off of the ground. By the time she managed to arrange a transfer back to Earth to take a position at Starfleet Medical in order to be closer to him, his missions of mercy to Romulan space had already begun. They had been like two ships in the night. Literally and figuratively.

In the four years to follow, they made as much effort as they could to maintain their marriage. She loved him, and making the effort was worth it to her; he gave every indication that he found the effort equally worthy. While they both did the best that they could, the massacre by the synths at Utopia Planitia Fleet Yard and the burning of Mars—the atmosphere of which still burned to present day—brought everything to a head: with no more shipyard, no more ships, no more synthetic labor (either now or in the future, thanks to the immediate ban), Starfleet decided that they had no choice but to abort the rescue mission. 

That decision was unacceptable to Jean-Luc Picard.

If Jean-Luc had not undertaken this herculean task, then he might not have, in the heat of the moment, threatened to resign if aid to the Romulans was halted. (Wryly, she considered that he might have made the threat anyway, even if someone else _had_ been leading the charge. But that was neither here nor there; the threat had still been made.) Calling Starfleet's bluff had been monumentally stupid of him, and if he'd consulted her first, she would have told him exactly how monumentally stupid an idea it was. But he _hadn't_ consulted her, nor had he apparently consulted anyone else that he trusted, such as his XO. The rescue mission was still aborted, Jean-Luc's resignation was accepted, and he was out of Starfleet, out of the only life and career he had ever known. A man driven by the exploration of space, rendered lost and aimless with an uncertain future or purpose.

Naturally, all of this put a strain on things.

She still loved him and had no intention of leaving him or the marriage, but she could only take so much of the anger, however righteous, that he directed towards Starfleet for abandoning its ideals. To an extent, she even agreed with him, but his bitterness turned him ever more inwards, as if no longer being out amongst the stars had caused him to not want to be out amongst anyone or anything. His awareness of his own parietal lobe defect, of his possible future suffering from Irumodic Syndrome and of his almost certain demise as a result, undoubtedly drove him to turn ever more into a hermit.

Watching the man that she loved close himself off to everything and everyone—including herself—was excruciating.

When Romulan refugees Laris and Zhaban came in 2389 to live at the château, Beverly knew he would be in good hands with them. In order to put some distance between them—because absence made the heart grow fonder—she accepted the captaincy of the USS _Mae Jemison_. She had never intended for it to be a long-term assignment, but here she was, ten years after she'd taken it, still the captain of that ship.

### Present day, USS _Mae Jemison_

A persistent electronic chirp woke her from her slumber almost a full eight hours after she'd retired to her bed for the evening. "Crusher here," she said, attempting to banish the grogginess from her voice, but not fully succeeding.

It was the ensign at the helm, a young Vulcan of whom she had become fond, by the name of Surik; he held the position that Wesley had once held on the bridge of the _Enterprise-D_ , and Surik's intelligence and personality reminded her of Wesley at that age, too. "Captain, I thought you'd want to be informed that we were able to finally establish full communications again."

"Thank you, Ensign, much appreciated. Crusher out." She threw the covers back, slid her feet into her slippers, and commanded the replicator to produce coffee and croissants.

She took the meal to her table and used her personal device to review the queue of communications. She had expected a lot in the queue given the nine-month radio silence, but the list she was now faced was staggering. 

"Computer," she said, then waited for the acknowledgment chirp before continuing. "Prioritize incoming communications by date and urgency, and separate them into official Starfleet communications and those marked personal." 

After several seconds, the list was split into two and reordered. The list of official Starfleet comms was short; not too surprising, given that they knew she was out of pocket. What did surprise her were the comms that topped the other list.

Deanna Troi?

She had kept in touch with Deanna (and of course Will Riker), particularly after the death of their fifteen-year-old son, Thad, three years earlier, but as the months had gone on, that contact had again gotten more sporadic. Yet now she found she had three video messages from Deanna, all from within the last month. This puzzled her greatly, and she watched them first.

The first one had Deanna was looking well, happy, and relaxed, and this made Beverly's heart swell with pleasure. All too many of their communications had been of a sadder nature.

"Beverly, sorry, I forgot that you were away on a research mission. I just… well, I just wanted to talk to you, see how you were, how you were handling things. Please do get in touch when you can."

The second one, just a week later, Deanna looked decidedly more worried. "Beverly. Will's volunteered to go off to the Ghulion system and—well, I don't want to get into it right now, since I'm sure I'll have more info soon, and you're not going to get this right away—I think you're due back before the end of the year, though? Anyway. I do want to talk to you as soon as possible. Hope you're doing well." She ended with a tight smile that seemed forced, one that did not quite make it to the corners of her eyes.

What the hell was going on in the Ghulion system that Will Riker had to go charging off?

Beverly kept watching, hoping for clarity.

The third one was about a fortnight after the previous one, and for all intents and purposes, Deanna looked like she'd been put through the ringer. She was smiling more genuinely, though. "Hello again, my friend. As the saying goes, all's well that ends well, right? I hope that previous message didn't alarm you too much. Still, I'm here. Hope to hear from you soon."

Obviously, she was not destined for clarity today.

Immediately upon the video's conclusion, Beverly said briskly, "Computer. What time is it on Nepenthe at the location from where these messages originated?"

"The current time in the vicinity of Infinity Lake is approximately 1800 hours."

Not an unreasonable time of day to contact her, then; the length of the Nepenthe day was twenty-five hours. They were probably preparing for dinner. She initiated a return communication.

As the screen came to life, it was clear that Deanna was still in the process of taking a seat at her console when she answered the call. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" she said, beaming a smile as she settled into her chair. "I can't wait to hear all about your research mission—what you _can_ tell me, anyway. But right now… how are you? Are you adjusting all right?"

Beverly furrowed her brow. "Adjusting to what?"

It was Deanna's turn to bring her brows together, then leaned back into the chair that she occupied. "Oh, I suppose you wouldn't know."

"We only just established our link again to subspace comms, so you are literally the first contact I've made with anyone in nine months," admitted Beverly. 

"You haven't even reviewed news archives?" Deanna asked delicately.

"Not even that." She felt slightly dizzy, like she was rushing towards bad news at warp ten. "So what is it that I don't know?"

Deanna's response surprised Beverly to the core. "Oh, Beverly, it's probably best you talk directly with Jean-Luc."

" _Jean-Luc_?" she repeated, genuinely stunned. "What does he have do with any of this?"

Deanna didn't respond immediately, as if she were carefully considering her thoughts. "It's probably best to speak to him directly," she said again.

Her thoughts went directly to his health, to the parietal lobe defect that was likely to eventually take his life. "Deanna, at least tell me if it's bad news."

"It's more complicated than good or bad," Deanna said. 

"I'm not sure I feel very reassured by that," Beverly said. "Can you at least tell me why Will took a ship to the Ghulion system?"

"Where did you hear that?"

Beverly smiled. "From _you_ , in your second message."

" _Right_ ," she said with a laugh. "Oh, that was a crazy few days."

"Will's all right?"

"Yes, he's fine. He's back, and right now, he's making pizzas in the stone oven." Beverly thought fondly of his homemade pizza. "Oh, Beverly, why don't you come see us for your shore leave? We'd love to have you. Kestra would especially enjoy picking your brain about your adventures."

"I'd love that, too," she said with a grin; she was seriously considering it. "But _you_ have changed the subject."

Deanna exhaled, clearly thinking of how to phrase what she wanted to say. "The Federation received an SOS call from the Ghulion system about a first contact situation, and Will was eager to be involved."

"An SOS call about a _first contact situation_?" She felt like she was starting to sound like a parrot.

"The Romulans were trying to stick their nose in where it wasn't wanted. Or rather, their artillery," she said. "I'm sure you can find more information about the situation from the news archives."

 _Ah_ , thought Beverly. _That's why she mentioned the archives before_. "I'll be sure to do so as soon as I've… gotten things sorted."

Deanna clearly got her meaning. "Keep in touch," she said. "Even if you just want to talk. I mean it."

"I will," Beverly replied. "Send Will and Kestra my love."

Deanna raised a hand to wave goodbye, and then the connection severed.

 _I guess I need to call Jean-Luc sooner rather than later_ , she thought. _Gonna need more coffee for this_.

Reaching for the console once again, she took a steadying breath, waiting for the connection to La Barre, wondering if she should have double-checked what the time was there too—

"Château Picard—Oh."

On the screen before her was a Romulan woman with a very severe expression—as most Romulans possess—and an overwhelmingly imposing presence. Beverly did not know Laris and Zhaban well; they had not overlapped in residence at Château Picard for long. She had, however, spoken to both them on occasion to see how he was faring, on those occasions when he did not wish to speak with her directly. Laris had always been friendly, even sympathetic, toward Beverly in those previous conversations, but this time, something was different. Laris seemed annoyed at the disruption. Annoyed at her? As loyal as Laris and her husband were to Jean-Luc, that Laris had ever seemed warm to her had always pleasantly surprised her. What had changed?

At least it couldn't be irritation that she'd called in the middle of the night; Beverly could plainly see the sunlight streaming in through the windows behind Laris.

"Hello, Laris," said Beverly, as pleasantly as she could, hoping to preemptively smooth any ruffled feathers. "I was looking for Jean-Luc. I just returned from a deep space research mission, I've been out of touch for nine months, and I… wanted to see how things were."

She pursed her lips. "He's not here."

Of all of the things Laris could say, this was the most unexpected. Jean-Luc never left the vineyard if he could help it. "He's not available?"

"No, he's not _here_."

Impatience creeped into her own voice: "Well, where is he?"

"At this moment, who knows?" Laris said; at this, she realized that Laris' frustration and exasperation were directed at Jean-Luc, not at herself. "The last I heard from him, he was returning from some distant star system."

Beverly was utterly bewildered. She'd expected to hear 'returning from the village,' not that he was _no longer on the planet_. Prickles of uneasiness entered her brain, given what she'd learned about Will Riker's recent adventure—

"It wasn't the Ghulion system, was it?"

"As a matter of fact… _yes_ , I think it was."

The sound in her ears was reminiscent of a howling wind. What in the great, wide expanse of space had happened to catapult him out of his self-imposed death spiral and into the black again? "How did he get there? I can't imagine he'd have anything to do with Starfleet again."

She snorted in derision. " _Starfleet_? Clearly you haven't seen his FNN interview yet."

Beverly didn't press the question of how he had gotten off of earth; there weren't many options that weren't Starfleet, and he probably wouldn't have told Laris, anyway. She'd definitely need to be on the lookout for this FNN interview. "Any idea when he's coming back?"

"No idea whatsoever."

"How I can get in touch with him?"

"I don't even know how _I_ can get in touch with him," she lamented.

Funny, she hadn't talked to Jean-Luc in months and months, yet suddenly, the sense of urgency to speak to him now almost overwhelmed her. "Laris, if you hear from him, please tell him I'm looking for him. I'm on—" She stopped short of saying 'my ship,' because in that moment she remembered Deanna's offer. Deanna must have known he wasn't on Earth if she'd offered to host her shore leave, right? But that mattered little now; as a solution, it was perfect. "I'm on my way to visit Will and Deanna on Nepenthe. I'll be there in a few days at the latest."

Laris nodded in agreement. "All right. I will."

Beverly sighed in relief. "Thank you."

She disconnected, then immediately contacted her ship's navigator to see how feasible it might be to detour to Nepenthe.

"Nepenthe, Captain?"

"I was invited there to spend my shore leave," she said. "I see no reason to go all the way to Earth just to head out again, if it's not necessary."

Pause. "I'll see what I can do, Captain."

"Much obliged."

More coffee before her next endeavor, and perhaps another croissant; this time, chocolate.

"Computer," she said coolly. "Bring up any news stories from the last nine months that feature or mention Jean-Luc Picard." After a moment, she added, "Or the Ghulion system."

After a moment, a list of vid links generated and filled the display. At the top of the list was an interview on Federation News Network on the anniversary of the Romulan supernova. _This must be the one Laris meant_ , Beverly thought, and cringed in anticipation. She knew how passionate Jean-Luc was about the Romulan refugee cause, and how much he resented Starfleet for how they'd handled it, how they'd treated him, and how they'd abandoned their own ideals.

If she'd been there, she would have told him not to do the interview, that they would not have been able to resist needling him. Not that he would have listened, stubborn old fool.

As the interview unfolded, it didn't take long for her to realize it was going exactly as she would have expected. It also underscored Laris' comment; he certainly hadn't gotten out into space courtesy of Starfleet. Her curiosity on how he had managed it was now definitely piqued.

She skimmed the other headline entries until she found mention of the Ghulion system in the Vayt sector, and she watched the summary of details of the incident for which Will Riker had volunteered to don his uniform again. Had she heard more details from Deanna sooner, she would have worried as much as Deanna had suspected she might: a fleet of Starfleet ships had engaged in a standoff against a fleet of Romulan ships just outside of orbit around a planet called Coppelius, which she had never heard of. Then the tensions broke and the Romulans had left.

The occupants of the planet were—she gasped at hearing it—synthetic lifeforms. _Synths!_ With the ban on the research and technology ever since the massacre, how had this been possible?

Two other very familiar names had appeared in the coverage as well, which helped to answer that question:

One was Dr. Bruce Maddox, who had turned his interest in Data from a specimen for study into a real friendship with the android. Maddox had been in frequent contact with Beverly over the years, but she was saddened to learn that he'd apparently died while away from Coppelius, prior to the events of this showdown.

The other was a man unknown to her but who had a very familiar name: Dr. Altan Inigo Soong. His father, Dr. Noonian Soong, was someone with whom she had been all too familiar.

She then went on to review the follow-up news stories, which provided the real bombshell. What had really happened on Mars fourteen years ago had come to light; what had really caused the synthetics to go haywire at Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards was now known.

The Romulans had sabotaged the rescue of their own people. 

But why?

She continued watching and reading, and quickly found her answer.

Zhat Vash, a subsection of the Romulan intelligence agency Tal Shiar, had been behind the Mars massacre. The Zhat Vash's virulently anti-synth fanaticism had ultimately led them to turn against their own people for what they believed was a greater good. Starfleet's Head of Security, Commander Oh, had always presented herself as Vulcan, but this incident had revealed her to actually be a Romulan general with the Tal Shiar on a long-term, deep-cover mission, and she was deeply loyal to the Zhat Vash. Oh had led the charge at Coppelius, and she was now on the run as a traitor to the Federation. The betrayal was undoubtedly sending shockwaves throughout the institution. The revealed truth of this sabotage led to the immediate reversal on the ban on synthetic life.

And yet, only a rare mention of Jean-Luc Picard, and mostly in an historical context. Very curious. She wondered if his involvement, whatever it was, would have proven to be an embarrassment to Starfleet if it had gotten out—

"Captain," came the voice of the navigator, derailing her train of thought. 

She exhaled sharply. "Crusher here."

"Just an update; we can accommodate your request regarding Nepenthe."

Her mood changed in a moment. "Fantastic, thank you," she said brightly. "Let me know when we're an hour out. Crusher out."

She polished off her coffee and the _pain au chocolat_ , then went to the mirror to inspect that she had no dark smudges on the corners of her mouth. She did not generally spend much time looking upon her reflection, but she realized now she should have taken a brush to her hair when she had reached out to Deanna. The least she could do now was make herself slightly more presentable before calling again to advise that she was on her way for shore leave. 

Beverly undid the braid in which she slept at night, then pulled a hairbrush through her chest-length locks to tame them. The glint of more silver strands than auburn had been the case for some time; another tangible reminder of the passage of time. She twisted her hair around then pinned it up with a hair stick.

She took a cleansing cloth and swiped it over her face, then ran her fingers under her eyes with a sigh. Despite the decent night's sleep, she looked exhausted. Dammit, she looked _old_. She _felt_ old, felt every one of her seventy-five years. In lieu of actually retiring—which she had no intention of doing yet—she needed some quality downtime, but was starting to suspect that she was not going to get much rest on Nepenthe. 

"Beverly!" It was Deanna's shining face again. "I hope this means you'll be joining us, after all."

"Yes… I'd love to. I'm on my way now."

"Fantastic!"

"Also…" she added. "I've been reading up on what I've missed…" She trailed off. Deanna nodded in understanding. "…but still I've been unable to track down Jean-Luc. Laris didn't know how to get hold of him. I don't even know how he managed to get off of Earth, or who he's with."

Off-screen, she heard Will's voice. "Now _that_ I can help with. Ship's name is _La Sirena_."

" _La Sirena_? I've never heard of it."

"It's not one of Starfleet's," said Will, sitting beside his wife. "The best I could determine is that her captain is former Starfleet. Cristóbal Rios. I don't know, though, if Jean-Luc is still even traveling with the ship and the rest of the crew."

"I told him I was coming to see the two of you for my leave. With any luck, he'll contact Laris, and she'll tell him I'm looking for him."

Deanna smiled again. "We'll see you soon enough."

Will grinned. "And I can fill in the details that FNN didn't report."

"And for that awful tease," scolded Beverly, "I expect the penance of wood-fired pizza upon my arrival."

"Yes, ma'am," Will said with a salute. 

Troi laughed, and it warmed Beverly's heart again to hear it; maybe, just maybe, she'd get some rest, after all. "Just let us know when your arrival's imminent."

"I sure will."

"See you soon, Beverly. Bye."

The connection broke, and as it did, Beverly felt her smile fade. Now to pack her things. 

Approximately three items had made into her bag before her curiosity got the better of her. "Computer," Beverly said, pausing her packing for a moment. "Tell me whatever you can about former Starfleet officer Cristóbal Rios."

"Rios, Cristóbal. Starfleet. Serial number SC-850-705. Graduated from Starfleet Academy in—"

"Skip ahead a bit. Why did he leave Starfleet?"

"Rios was given a medical discharge in 2390 after an incident on the heavy cruiser USS _ibn Majid_." 

Beverly's brows lifted ever so slightly. "What was the diagnosis?"

"That information is protected private medical information."

 _Fair enough_ , she thought. Time to try another tack. "What incident occurred on the USS _ibn Majid_ in 2390," she began, then added, as a heavy cruiser was likely to encounter more than one, "to which Rios might be directly connected?"

The computer took longer than expected before returning, "Captain Vandermeer died by suicide."

This new, unexpected piece of information stopped her in her tracks as she folded her favorite robe. "In Rios' presence?"

"Unknown."

"How is Rios connected to this incident?"

"Commander Rios reported the incident to Starfleet Headquarters."

"What was Commander Rios' role aboard the _ibn Majid_?"

"Commander Rios was the first officer."

All was clearer now, despite the circuitous route it had taken to get information out of the computer. If she had to guess—in her capacity as captain and former chief medical officer—Rios _had_ in fact either been present for the suicide or had discovered his captain's body, which had resulted in debilitating post-traumatic stress. Her guess was the former.

Beverly's biggest question now was how Jean-Luc could have possibly met the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * The title means "[Through adversity to the stars](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ad_astra_\(phrase\))."
>   * Rough timeline: [2399](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/2399).
>   * [Dr. Mae Jemison](https://www.biography.com/astronaut/mae-c-jemison) was the first African-American woman in space… and [appeared on _ST:TNG_ as a lieutenant junior grade](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Mae_Jemison).
>   * The [Ghulion system](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Ghulion_system), which contains [Coppelius](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Coppelius), home of Maddox and Soong's synths.
>   * Info about [Rios on Memory Alpha](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Crist%C3%B3bal_Rios).
>   * [Nepenthe](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Nepenthe), where Riker and Troi live.
>   * What's [Irumodic Syndrome](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Irumodic_Syndrome) ( _ear-uh-MAHD-ik_ )?
>   * [Star Trek: Picard Season 2 could fix Jean-Luc's biggest TNG mistake](https://www.inverse.com/entertainment/star-trek-picard-season-2-cast-beverly-crusher-gates-mcfadden) (i.e., his relationship with Bev, ahem).
> 



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On shore leave, the answers that Beverly gets only lead to more questions.

### Riker-Troi homestead, Nepenthe

The planet lived up to its name.

The first thing Deanna had told Beverly the first time she'd visited was that the planet had been named after a drug from Greek mythology that grants forgetfulness. The lush greenness of its forests, the vast lakes of pristine, crystal blue water, impressive mountains, canyons and rock formations, so similar in so many ways to Will Riker's native Alaska… Nepenthe was just the sort of place to go to forget.

Beverly appeared to have touched down on this part of the planet at the commencement of the autumnal season. Most of the trees that carpeted the mountains were coniferous, but the deciduous trees in evidence on the plains and valleys were a riotous explosion of colors. She took in a deep breath and as she let it go, she realized she could see the fog of her own exhalation. So brisk and refreshing.

A loud crunch sounded to her right.

Beverly whipped her head around trying to locate the source of the sound, saw a flash of red, and smiled, instantly relaxing; she'd immediately recognized the red cape frequently worn by Deanna and Will's fourteen-year-old daughter, Kestra. The girl was trying to sneakily approach, dressed in her Wild Girl of the Woods costume and with bow and arrow in hand. "Kestra, is that you?" she said, feigning confusion. "I would sure hate for this bag of chocolates to get into the wrong hands."

At once she heard a sudden rustle and scramble before Kestra appeared with a bright grin, her sun-streaked light brown locks wild around her freckled, paint-smudged face, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Chocolates?" she asked, hopeful. So like her mother.

"I wouldn't dare demonstrate my presence without chocolates." She held out her arms and gave the girl a hug, marveling at how much taller Kestra had gotten since she'd last been to visit. A twang of pain shot through Beverly as she realized that visit had probably been just after Thad had died. 

"Come on," Kestra said, pulling back, still with a smile on her face. "Dad's got the pizza oven ready to go, just waiting to see the whites of your eyes. When Mom and Dad got your call, they couldn't stop talking about how nice it'd be to see you again. They were _so_ happy to see Pic—" She broke off abruptly, stopping in her tracks, but the damage was done; Beverly knew what name she'd been about to say.

"Jean-Luc Picard was _here_?"

"I'm sorry," said Kestra, looking distraught. "I don't know if I was supposed to tell you he was here."

Beverly's heart raced. " _When_ was he here? Recently?"

"Before Dad went off to Coppelius."

 _Okay_ , she thought. _At least I'm not about to be ambushed over dinner._ "It's okay that you told me," said Beverly warmly. "Though I wonder why your parents didn't mention it before."

Kestra looked sheepish. "I overheard them talking about what to tell you or not tell you before you got here. They didn't want you to worry."

"I'm here now," she said, offering a reassuring smile. She patted the girl's shoulder fondly. "Come on. They're waiting for us."

With that they continued the walk up the long path to the house; Beverly's eyes lit instantly upon the plume of smoke rising from the pizza oven, and then upon the familiar figures of her old friends. William Riker spotted her first, grinned, and waved; this action prompted Deanna to turn around, and she grinned too.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," Deanna said, approaching Beverly with her arms outstretched. The two embraced tightly and with great fondness. 

"I hope you're hungry," Riker said. "We have a stack of crusts and toppings ready to go."

"And some wine, I hope," Beverly said. "I've been longing for the real thing."

"Come, let's get you settled into your room," said Deanna, taking her friend by the elbow. "We'll leave these two to get the pizzas in the oven."

They ascended the stairs when Deanna spoke again. "We made a decision," she said. "We've… well." 

Deanna pushed open the door to what had previously been Thad's room. Without Deanna having to say a word, Beverly knew. They couldn't continue to live in the past and wallow in the pain of their loss, so they had reclaimed the boy's room from being a sterile shrine to a young life that had been lost far too soon, transforming it back to a space for living again. Gone were his drawings, maps, books, trophies, and other traces of his creative and brilliant young mind; instead Beverly saw a room that Thad easily would have very been happy to have others stay in. 

"It was actually Kestra's idea," Deanna continued.

"I was going to ask how she was handling things," Beverly asked quietly.

Deanna nodded. "Better than I do, most days," she said with a faint smile. "She's taken it upon herself to be her brother's chronicler, compiling as much as she can of his worlds and languages into a single volume… or volumes, as the case may be. She wanted to bring it all into her room so that she could organize it." She sighed, her heart clearly heavy. "As much as we all miss Thad, we _know_ he's not coming back. We'll always love and honor his memory, but we can't have our guests, as infrequent as they are, staying in a time capsule."

Beverly slipped an arm around her shoulders for a hug. "Kestra is an exceptional young lady," Beverly said quietly. "You're so lucky to have her."

Deanna nodded, wiping away from under her eyes. She took in a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was more like itself again. "I hope you don't mind being the first guest since we've redone it."

"Of course not," said Beverly. "I'm honored. It's beautiful." She went to the window, looked out over the vast expanse of wilderness at their doorstep. "What a view." She turned back to Deanna. "I really appreciate your invitation. After so many months in deep space seclusion, working most hours, most days… this is just what I need." She meant more than just the vistas, and knew that Deanna knew it.

"You're always welcome."

"I know," Beverly said. Mentions of guests and guest rooms brought her thoughts back to their most recent previous guest: Jean-Luc. She knew, though, that now was not the time to bring it up… and not just because she was suddenly ravenous. She also wanted Will to be there for the conversation.

"I don't have to be an empath to know what's on your mind," said Deanna with a smile. "Dinner's probably imminent. Let's go eat."

Before heading back downstairs, Beverly reached into her bag for Kestra's chocolates.

………

After dinner, around the fire, Deanna headed back into the house with Kestra; Beverly was enjoying another glass of wine and lazily watching sparks rising up from the flames when Will Riker spoke up. 

"I suppose you're probably wondering what in hell happened to get Jean-Luc out of La Barre again."

"More like of off of _Earth_ again," she said, sitting upright in her lounging chair. "I'm really struggling to understand it." 

"I'll tell you what I know, but I'm sure I don't know the whole story," he said. "The extent of my knowledge begins when Jean-Luc Picard inexplicably showed up here with a young woman in tow."

Beverly's brows lifted quite without her thinking about it. Young woman?

Will chuckled at her reaction. "Not at all what it sounds like."

"Oh, I know," she said; she knew Jean-Luc well enough to know he was faithful to their vows and to her. "So who was this young woman?"

"All in good time," said Riker with a grin; he was not about to ruin the flow of his story. "It became immediately clear to me that he was protecting her, and they needed a place to hide out."

" _Hide out_?" she repeated. "Why?"

"If I tell you more before Deanna comes back," he said, "she'll probably tan me."

"If your intent is to build suspense," Beverly said wryly, "congratulations. You've done it again."

Approaching footsteps told her that the suspense would not last long.

" _Imzadi_ ," Will said. "Explain who Jean-Luc's companion was."

"Ah," said Deanna with a small smirk as she took her seat again. "She was Data's daughter."

Beverly screwed up her brow in confusion. To her knowledge, the only daughter of Data's had died from cascade failure.

"Not Lal," Deanna supplied, seemingly reading Beverly's thoughts.

"But Data didn't have any…" she trailed off. Data had died twenty years ago. "How could he have another daughter?"

"This is still a mystery to us, too," Will said. "But there's no question, despite how incredibly like a human Soji is."

"Her name is Soji," Deanna explained.

"Data's daughter through and through," Will went on, "down to the head tilt. We could tell they were in deep trouble, mostly because almost as soon as they arrived, he clearly regretted the decision to come here. He was afraid he was putting us in great danger. I put the shields up and asked how we could help."

Beverly couldn't help but lightly laugh. Of course they had shields to put up.

"He suggested doing some anti-cloaking scanning, and it became pretty clear to me pretty quickly that Romulans figured into the picture somehow," Will continued. "The fact they were in danger told me it was the Tal Shiar. And they appeared to be after Soji specifically… but I was just not sure why at the time."

Given the revelation of what happened at Utopia Planitia and the anti-synth sentiment of the subsect of the Tal Shiar, the reason now seemed all too clear.

"While he was here, he was trying to contact Rios—the captain of the ship Will told you about," Deanna added. "Couldn't get through. We suggested the spaceport at Infinity Lake, if he could afford to wait. His goal at that point was to get Soji to her home world—which was undoubtedly in danger from the Romulans for the same reason Soji was. We had a little help from Captain Crandall, who helped us to identify exactly where this home world was."

"Who's Captain Crandall?" Beverly asked, but Deanna interjected,

"Oh, Will, you forgot to tell her about Dahj."

That's when Beverly learned that Soji and Dahj had been mirror images of one another. Two Soong-type androids of potentially many more.

"Jean-Luc didn't stay with us long," Will added. "He was finally able to get in touch with _La Sirena_. Aside from the captain—Rios, I mean—he didn't say much about the crew aside from being 'decidedly motley'." Will grinned. "And that was that, until I heard about Jean-Luc's SOS call. I asked for temporary reassignment and took the acting captaincy of the USS _Zheng He_." Beverly whistled low; she knew the _Zheng He_ was the toughest, fastest, and most powerful state-of-the-art starship that Starfleet currently had. As he went on, his voice was ever more animated. "Made it, along with a fleet of fighters, to the Ghulion system, to Coppelius, just in the nick of time to defend the planet against the Romulans, who—"

Beverly nodded. "This part I know, the truth about Utopia Planitia; Maddox, Soong, the synths, and the lifting of the ban."

"Right—but I'm not sure if news of the beacon got out." She shook her head. "They had erected a beacon on the planet's surface to summon—well, to be honest, I'm not quite sure who or _what_ it was they were trying to summon. But Jean-Luc managed to convince Soji to destroy the beacon. The Romulan fleet withdrew—I think the Federation is still looking for Oh, or whatever her Romulan name is."

Beverly's head was swirling. 

"After the skirmish, I spoke to Jean-Luc briefly to explain how I'd come to be there," Will went on. "Told him I wasn't about to sit around in the forest making pizza while he had all of the fun, before I wished him farewell and left the situation in his more than capable hands. With a final 'Adieu,' the communication dropped. That was the last I heard from him."

Beverly didn't know where to begin. She sat back in the chair again, looking up to the stars. "This is all giving me a headache."

"Totally understandable."

"So…" She closed her eyes, massaging the hollows just under her brows with her thumbs. "Is he still there, on Coppelius?" she asked, looking to them again.

"We don't know," said Deanna. Will nodded. "We did try contacting them again after hearing from you, and we were told that communications with the planet were still trying to be rebuilt."

Will added, "It's been… what, about a month? It was something of a 'first contact' situation, after all. He's probably busy getting things—"

Beverly interrupted, kicking herself for not thinking of it sooner, "What about reaching out to _La Sirena_?"

Will and Deanna shared a look. "We did try," Will said. "All attempts at communications seem to have been refused."

"What do you mean, 'refused'?"

"No acknowledgement at all," Deanna explained. "Of course, I'm not sure Captain Rios wants contact with Starfleet right now."

Beverly pursed her lips. "Can I use your comm console? Captain Rios might refuse contact with a Starfleet captain, but I'll be damned if I let him refuse contact from the man's _wife_."

Deanna grinned, then laughed lightly. "I do believe if anyone can get through," she said, "it'll be the one person whose stubbornness surpasses Jean-Luc's."

Will went back to the house first to set things up for communication; as she and Deanna walked back to the house, Beverly asked, "So how did he look when he was here?"

"He looked… well, the same as he always does. A few more light-years behind him, but that's true of us all."

"Hm," she said; now they were away from the fire, she was cold, and she thrust her hands into her pockets. She debated how much to say, but realized that Deanna already knew about the scan she'd done almost 30 years earlier while they were all still on the _Enterprise-D_. "It's just… he'd basically gone to ground in La Barre, waiting for Irumodic Syndrome to catch up with him; he'd always thought it was not an 'if,' but a 'when.' Now, suddenly, he's out and about adventuring again in space at 94. You understand I'm just a little concerned that he's decided to go out in a blaze of glory because he's developed it full-blown and he's convinced it's the thing to do."

Deanna was a thoughtful for a moment. "He seemed perfectly sound, both physically and mentally. I didn't read anything unusual from him, emotionally speaking… not that couldn't be attributed to the situation he was in." Deanna said. "Though if Soji hadn't been with him, I might still have wondered."

As Beverly joined Will at his comm station, she asked him the same question, how Jean-Luc looked the last time she'd seen him. He thought for a moment. "A little more tired-looking than when he'd stayed here, but given the circumstances, I think it's understandable."

She wanted to prepare herself for anything.

"Everything's ready," he said. "I'll… leave you to it." With that, he withdrew.

With a great intake then exhalation of breath, she took a seat and tried to establish a comm channel with _La Sirena_ , hoping that the ship had not already autoblocked this originating source.

Just as she was about to give up hope, a woman's voice came back. " _La Sirena_ to Station Nep-1047. Transmission received."

Beverly's mind was racing; the voice was so familiar. Who was it?

"Station Nep-1047. Are you still there?"

"Yes, yes, sorry, Nep-1047 here," Beverly said. "Hoping you can help. I'm looking for Jean-Luc Picard, and have reason to believe—"

The familiar-sounding voice went much cooler. "If this is FNN, you can fuck _riiiight_ off."

 _Not exactly protocol_ , she thought; _then again, not exactly Starfleet_. "No, no, it's not," Beverly said quickly. The name of the owner of the voice popped into her head, and she blurted, "Raffi? Is that you?"

Now the voice—whom she now presumed actually did belong to Raphaella Musiker, Jean-Luc's former executive officer in his role as an admiral during the Romulan relocation project—went strangely quiet. "Who is this," she said, more than asked.

"D—" _Dammit, almost said 'Doctor,'_ she thought, then continued, "Captain Beverly Crusher."

"Ohhh," she said quietly. "My _God_. It's been a minute, hasn't it?"

Beverly smiled; at least any disagreements they might have had in the past were water under the bridge. "So is he there on the ship? I've been trying to reach him."

"Mm-hmm," Raffi said. 

The implication of Raffi's wordless reply struck her. "Is he… _right_ there?"

"Mm-hmm," she said again. Raffi must have had an earpiece in.

"So. Can I talk to him?"

"Mm-mm." No. 

"I assume you mean it is not a good time," Beverly said; Raffi assented. "Have him contact me here, please; I'm taking shore leave with Will and Deanna for at least a couple of weeks. I have a feeling we have a lot of catching up to do."

Raffi's reply struck her as portentous: "Oh, you have _no_ idea," she said in that same quiet tone, then, more loudly, added, "Roger that request. _La Sirena_ out."

The connection dropped, leaving Beverly to wonder what those cryptic words could have possibly meant.

She left the room to find Deanna and Will in the kitchen ostensibly making tea, but she suspected they really wanted to know how things had gone.

"Good news," Beverly said, cutting to the chase. "I did reach _La Sirena_."

"So what's the bad news?"

Beverly explained who she'd reached on the bridge, and that he had been unavailable to talk. "I can only hope that Raffi can get him to reach out to me here." She took a proffered cup of tea. "Until then, I guess I just wait."

"And rest, and relax," Deanna said. "Enjoy yourself while you're here."

"Oh, I intend to, starting with a hot shower," Beverly replied, sipping at the cup leisurely. She thought, _I've spent enough of my life waiting for Jean-Luc Picard to talk to me. Not about to start holding my breath now_.

………

Dawn broke, birds warbled a light, sweet song, and Beverly Crusher luxuriated on the wonderfully comfortable bed in the Riker-Troi spare room, ensconced in soft linens. In her hazy, half-dream state, she smiled; she had nothing to do, nowhere to be, no experiments to monitor, no subordinates to wrangle. It was glorious, and not for the first time she wondered if she shouldn't take the retirement that she had more than earned.

_And do what? Wait to die like Jean-Luc did? Not a chance._

She wondered, though, if at the very least a sabbatical wasn't in order. Perhaps some personal research. She was very interested in the work on synths that Maddox had done in secret, and that had only just come to light.

She cursed quietly to herself with a laugh. Awake for mere minutes, and she was already thinking about work.

She heard Kestra's laughter soaring from the first floor, and she had an overwhelming urge to just be in the girl's exuberant presence. It had been many years since Wesley had been a child aboard the _Enterprise-D_ with her, and she suddenly felt the weight of every one of those years.

Quickly she washed her face and dressed in her Caldos linens, then went down to find herself in the kitchen with Will. He was in front of the stove tending a griddle full of pancakes. The smell was heavenly. Between the wood-fired pizza and the homemade pancakes, she was going to get very spoiled staying with them.

"Hope you're hungry," he said. Pointing to the sideboard, he added, "Fresh coffee, too."

 _And_ fresh coffee. Spoiled beyond reason.

"I am suddenly _very_ much so, thanks." Beverly went to the quaint, old-fashioned cafetière and poured herself a mug. "Wherever did you find this pot?"

"He _made_ it," Kestra said proudly, still smiling broadly. She sat at the table eating a pastry of some kind, which was dotted with chocolate chips.

Her father chuckled. "It's not like I milled each piece by hand," he said. "I programmed the replicator to make it."

"Different skillset, but no less valuable." Deanna appeared, smiling. She pecked his cheek. "And no less appreciated."

Beverly raised her mug as if in a toast. "Absolutely."

"And how did you sleep?" Deanna asked.

"Wonderfully, thank you."

"Plans for today?"

"None at all. Hoping to spend some time in your garden."

"What a coincidence!" Deanna said brightly. "I was hoping to ask for your help pruning the roses. Well, the closest we get to roses on Nepenthe, anyhow."

"I can't think of a better way to spend a day."

That morning, and several mornings to follow, was spent in companionable silence with her friend. They were joined by Kestra more often than not, who knew an impressive amount about the flora as well as fauna in their garden. In turn, Kestra listened attentively to Beverly's tales aboard not only the _Enteprise-D_ and _E_ with Will and Deanna, but her decidedly more mundane adventures aboard the _Mae Jemison_. It was a routine that she could have easily gotten used to.

One evening she even met the oft-referred-to Captain Crandall, a wiry, athletic, silver-haired man of indeterminate age, who came by to bring Kestra a token from a past adventure of his: a _bat'leth_ appropriate for her smaller form. 

"Do you mind her having that?" Beverly said in a low tone.

"She knows how to handle a bow and arrow, plus the business edge isn't sharpened. I'm not worried. Neither is Will."

"Good point," she said, watching Crandall showing her how to wield it with two hands. "What a strange friendship."

"Despite her own parents being Starfleet through and through, there's something about him that she finds fascinating," Deanna explained. "I don't see it personally, but I'm not a fourteen-year-old. Maybe her interest stems in the fact that he still has his own ship, even if it is defunct; maybe it's because his career has primarily been in private spacefaring."

"Sounds much like Captain Rios and _La Sirena_."

"Exactly," she said. "I'm sure it sounds very exciting to her. She spent the first ten years of her life living on a ship, so she knows what it's like to live out there in space, but life on a Starfleet ship that accommodates families is _very_ different than a ship on the fringes."

Beverly nodded. 

"And I do think he has her best interest at heart," Deanna went on, just as Crandall showed her how to swing the _bat'leth_ with one hand. "He's more bluster than anything. He's harmless. She could have worse role models."

Beverly watched the two interacting, a small, wistful smile playing upon her face. Suddenly she missed her son, longed for the frustrating, tiring days raising him on her own, all while holding command positions on starships. She was viewing the past through rose-tinted glasses, she knew, but she was feeling nostalgic all the same.

It seemed, though, that Crandall saw her smile and possibly misinterpreted it, because he smiled back in her direction. He said something to Kestra, who looked at Beverly too. Then the man strode up to introduce himself, a rakish lock of hair falling down over his brow. "Captain Rupert Crandall," he said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Captain Beverly Crusher," she said, offering a pleasant smile and her hand for a firm, brief handshake. She realized that during her daydreaming, Will and Deanna had retreated towards the house; she got the feeling that they didn't like talking much to the captain.

"Ah," he said with a grin. "You're the famous Doctor Captain Crusher that Kestra's told me about. What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

She explained her research mission, and that she was there for a little shore leave. "I served aboard the _Enterprise_ with Will and Deanna."

"Ahh," he said, clearly making a few mental connections. "Along with its illustrious captain, who was here all too recently, if I recall correctly."

She nodded, keeping her features neutral.

"So, will you be here long?"

"At least a couple of weeks," she said. "The researchers on my ship need to conclude their data analysis. We're not slated for another mission for at least three months."

"Maybe I can persuade you to let me show you the sights in town. Perhaps make you dinner?"

She smiled, then laughed a little. He looked visibly deflated, for which she felt guilty. "Don't take that the wrong way," she said "I just have… issues to deal with yet, regarding my husband." After a beat, she added, "The illustrious captain you just mentioned."

It might have been her imagination, but the blood seemed to drain out of his face. "Husband. My apologies."

She didn't wear a wedding band and she'd turned up to Nepenthe alone; how could he have known we was married? She hardly advertised the fact. "No apology needed," she said. "And you know, I might take you up on seeing the sights—as a friend—if Deanna and Will need me out of their hair. After all, any friend of Kestra's is a friend of mine."

He recovered his composure and smiled again. "I'd like that. I have a nice little boat I like to take out on the water."

It did sound lovely. "I'll let you know."

She said goodbye, as did Kestra, and the two of them returned to the house. With _bat'leth_ in hand, Kestra bounded back up to her room—presumably to continue her archiving efforts—and as she disappeared from sight, Deanna pulled Beverly aside. "I'm _so_ sorry," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"I left you to your thoughts, turned back, and saw Crandall making a bee-line to you," she said. 

Beverly chuckled. "It's fine," she said. "Mentioning my current marital turbulence helped to set expectations, though I may take him up on the offer to go out on his boat."

Deanna conceded, "It _is_ a nice boat, and the lake's gorgeous at this time of the year. We'll be going into town in a few days when we take Kestra for her yearly physical—why not come with us?"

She smiled. "That sounds perfect."

### Infinity Lake, Nepenthe

As Beverly parted ways with her hosts in the town that took its name from the mirror-smooth lake next to which it was situated, she could only reflect upon the fact that at least now if Kestra were to be diagnosed with the same silicon-based viral infection that had ultimately taken her brother's life, an active positronic matrix would now be legally available to cure her. Mendaxic neurosclerosis was not the same death sentence it had been just a few short weeks ago; a bittersweet thought, because it would not bring Thad back. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Maddox's work. If only she'd known…

She had arranged to meet Crandall for lunch at a seafood restaurant on the lakeside, before embarking on their boat ride. More accurately, a seaside fry shack like those commonly seen at the wharfs in San Francisco. It was a homey little place, very informal, with bench seats and nautical décor; some things were universal, she supposed, or perhaps the owners/operators were originally from Earth. Crandall was already seated at a table, and when he saw her come in, he rose to his feet with a smile. 

"Hi there," he said as she approached. "So glad you could come."

"I really do appreciate the invitation, and the day couldn't have been better for it," she said as they took their seats. He passed a menu towards her, which she perused.

"I come here quite a lot," he said. "Everything's good."

She wondered how she'd have the faintest idea of what to order, but to her surprise the menu included brief explanations that compared the dishes to the most-well known seafood delicacies in the major cultures in the Federation. A lot of Federation ex-pats (or at least tourists) must have come to Nepenthe. She settled on a dish that claimed to be a lot like a cedar plank-baked salmon (without need of the plank), with side dishes that bore a strong resemblance to roasted potatoes and salad greens. 

"They make a mean gin and tonic," Crandall said. "If that's your thing."

"Not usually," she said with a grin, "but I'll have one."

The lunch and the drink exceeded her expectations, and she found herself having a better time than she thought she would. He was an engaging storyteller and had an endless supply of tales—tall or otherwise—to engage her interest. It honestly felt good to laugh as much as she did.

"I don't suppose," he began as they strolled towards where he had docked his boat, "that there are any other Crusher girls back wherever they harvested the likes of you."

She turned to look at him with what was surely an expression of confusion across her features. It took her a moment to realize that he didn't know that Crusher was not the name with which she was born. "I'm a _Howard_ girl, harvested from the fine lunar soil of Copernicus City, but sadly I was an only child," she corrected gently. At his own confusion, she explained, "Jack Crusher was my first husband. I was widowed very young."

"Well, there I go, stepping into the muck again," he said sheepishly. "That's what I get for assuming…" He trailed off; he didn't need to finish what he was about to say.

She smiled. Taking one's husband's name was an old custom that many women—like her friend and colleague Alyssa Ogawa—did not follow in the 24th century, but as young as she was for her first marriage… "I was 24 when I married Jack Crusher. I had only just begun my training with Starfleet Medical… and I thought I'd be with Jack for the rest of our lives. Perhaps foolish of me, given how dangerous a Starfleet career can be." She smiled wistfully. "Jack was killed on an away team mission when I was 30—ironically enough, under the command of Captain Jean-Luc Picard—and… I guess by that point I saw no need or desire to change it back." After a beat, she continued. "When I got married again, I was in my 50s. By that point I'd had the name 'Crusher' longer than I hadn't…and I was already established in my career with that name in Starfleet. It's part of my identity now." She laughed lightly to herself. "Also… it seemed pointless to take his name when it's a legendary one. I felt like if someone were to say 'Captain Picard' to try to get my attention, I'd be looking around for _him_ , every single time." She looked to him again with a chuckle, thrusting her hands into her pockets. "Well, there's my complicated marital history. I'll bet you're sorry you asked."

"On the contrary," he said, "not at all sorry. I always appreciate being educated in areas in which I fall short."

"So how about you? Ever been married?"

"Came close a few times," he said. "But no, never married, and I'm okay with that. I've had a good life, couldn't ask for—" He stopped short. "Did you hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

But then she did. Someone was calling Crandall's name. She turned to see a dark-haired, goateed man striding towards them, smiling and holding his hand up in greeting.

"Rios!" Crandall said, grinning broadly. "When on _Qo'noS_ did you get here?"

Beverly didn't hear anything more of the conversation because she had recognized the approaching man from his file; it was the very same Captain Rios who piloted _La Sirena_. 

"I think I'd better take a raincheck on that boat ride," she said, interrupting the men's banter. 

"Good God, I'm sorry. Beverly, this is Captain Cristóbal Rios. Rios, this is—"

"No introductions are needed," Rios said, still smiling, apparently unflappable. "I believe _you_ are the reason we're here, Captain."

"Where is he?" She didn't need to specify who she meant.

"I presume he went to find you."

Crandall was no fool; he had clearly done the math involving the story she had just told him, and the name of the man who had so recently been a guest with Deanna and Will. "Perhaps I could escort you back to the homestead," offered Crandall. 

She nodded. "I would appreciate you walking me at least to the closest transporter hub. Captain Rios, very nice to meet you."

Rios acknowledged her with a nod. "Crandall, we'll catch up later."

"Drinks are on me."

Rios pointed at him meaningfully, still grinning. "I'll hold you to that."

They strolled away again; Beverly was lost in her thoughts, so there was no further conversation to speak of. Once at the transporter arch hub, he said, "Are you sure I can't accompany you all the way back?"

She shook her head. "Not necessary." She smiled. "Thing is, I really was looking forward to going out onto the lake. Perhaps another time?"

He offered a smile as he nodded; she hoped he knew she was not just being polite. "Good luck with everything."

She nodded. She felt like she was going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * [Captain Rupert Crandall](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Rupert_Crandall): In the _ST: Picard_ episode, "Nepenthe," it's mentioned that he is "older than Picard."
>   * A [_bat'leth_](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Bat'leth).
> 



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Difficult conversations to have; difficult decisions to make.

### One year earlier (2398), USS _Mae Jemison_

Captain Beverly Crusher took in a deep breath before tapping the console to accept the communication from Earth. She had been putting off calling home because she wasn't looking forward to the conversation she needed to have, but she took comfort in doing it from halfway across the quadrant. She smiled as his face appeared on her screen; despite her trepidation over their impending conversation, it was really _so_ good to see him.

"Beverly," said Jean-Luc Picard, his own smile soft and sincere, his face lighting up at seeing her. "You're looking well."

"So are you," she said, though in truth, he looked very weary. 

"I feel about a million years old," he admitted. "But everything's going terrifically out on the vineyard. I think we'll have an excellent vintage this year. An embarrassing bounty of grapes."

"I'm so glad to hear it," she said with a light laugh. "How's Number One?"

The mention of his teddy bear of a pit bull broadened his smile even further. "Oh, he's great. _Great_. Walks the vineyard with me every morning. So. How's everything on your ship?" he asked. 

"Fantastic. Alyssa sends a hello," she said. "We were able to get some terrific data on pulsars out here."

"That study's almost concluded, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said. She braced herself to deliver the disappointing news. "And… since we're already out here, so close to the Delta Quadrant, we've already been given a new mission. It's nine months in duration, studying an anomaly—"

"Wait. A new mission?" he interrupted brusquely; his expression had gone stony. "I thought you were due for leave. I thought you were coming _home_."

"That's true, I was," she said patiently, "but our proximity means another team doesn't need to spend the time just to get out here, on the chance that the anomaly doesn't last—"

"Dammit, Beverly," he interrupted again, more hotly this time. "I have only seen you via comm screen for the last _four years_. I'm starting to think you don't want to come home."

She had expected him to be unhappy at her news. What she hadn't expected was that he would somehow blame her for it. "Are you suggesting that I am _asking_ to take on additional research work just to avoid you? Have you been away from Starfleet so long that you've forgotten that when Starfleet assigns you a mission, you do it?"

"Of course not," he said testily. "But I'd like to think you would brook at least a little resistance."

"Do you _really_ think I didn't, Jean-Luc?" she said. "I'm sorry you think you're in exile there on Earth, but you're not—you know very well that you are always welcome to join me out here, but you always find some reason to stay there. The vines. The harvest. The dog."

The lines of his jaw tensed. "I cannot be on a Starfleet vessel."

"You _can_ ," she said. "You're my husband."

"That's _not_ what I mean," he said, seeming to try to choose his words carefully. "I mean that I morally object to it."

She did not quite know what to say. He had made his feelings plain on how Starfleet had changed for the worse, how they had abandoned the ideals in which he so stridently believed, but this was a bridge too far. "Unbelievable," she said, exasperated. "So _you_ are avoiding _me_ because you don't like my employer. So am _I_ morally objectionable for remaining with Starfleet?"

"I did _not_ say either of those things."

"But that's essentially what it boils down to." She stiffened her spine as her temper flared. She inhaled, then exhaled, trying to cool the heat she felt. "Perhaps it is best that I am embarking on this mission," she said through gritted teeth, "because it will give me time and perspective, and I won't do or say something that I won't be able to undo or take back. Crusher out."

She said her last name very pointedly, then flicked her fingers over the terminal to block any return communication. She did not want to speak to him when she was as furious with him as she was right now.

Aside from being furious, though, she was profoundly sad. He had become a shell of the vibrant, intelligent, engaging man she had known for most of her life. She had done everything she could think of to snap him out of it, but she was at her wits' end. When the nine-month mission was up, she would have to reevaluate whether the marriage she had entered was the same one she was still in, and whether remaining in it was the prudent thing to do. 

After a thoughtful moment, she touched her comm badge. "Crusher to Ogawa."

"Ogawa here. Just coming off duty, Beverly. What's up?"

She thought for a moment. "Just spoke with Jean-Luc."

Alyssa did not reply right away. "Say no more," she said. "I'll be there ASAP."

### Present day, Riker-Troi homestead, Nepenthe

Beverly emerged through the transporter arch, immediately appearing at the end of the long path leading to Deanna and Will's place. It didn't look like anyone was home. As she mounted the stairs, she spoke aloud to announce her presence; the household computer recognized her and allowed her entry.

She walked around the common areas of the house that he might likely be in; they were empty. She then went to the upper level, to the room in which she'd been staying and where Jean-Luc had stayed previously. It, too, was empty.

She looked out of the window and down onto the property; also no signs of life, aside from the bunnicorn forging a brave path past the pizza oven.

Hm. She could only conclude that he wasn't actually here.

She decided that the lunch and the news of Jean-Luc's arrival had taken more out of her than she had thought, so she decided to change into her Caldos linens, stretch out on the bed and have a bit of a rest, read from one of Thad's books, and settle her mind—or at least she'd give it a try, with her thoughts in a whirl at the prospect of the discussion, difficult or otherwise, that she knew was impending.

It felt no more than five minutes had passed since she'd sat on the bed with _Earth Then and Now_ when there was a light rapping on the door. The skies had gotten decidedly darker; sleep had apparently taken her by surprise. "Beverly, are you in there?"

Deanna's voice. In one fluid move, she sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and combed her fingers back through her hair. "Yes; please, come in."

Deanna looked extremely troubled and closed the door behind herself. "Jean-Luc's here."

"Here on Nepenthe? Yes, I know."

"I meant that he's downstairs talking with Will."

She felt a surge of adrenaline traitorously course through her body; _he's really here_ , she thought, but said only, "Ah." She then noticed Deanna's expression of concern and felt her stomach drop as if she were in a turbolift that had just catastrophically failed. "What is it? What's wrong? Is he unwell?"

Deanna took a seat on the edge of the bed. "That's just it," she said quietly. "Physically, he's looking better than he has in a long time. But he's… blank."

She screwed up her features. "What do you mean, 'blank'?"

She looked exasperated, as if she could not quite figure out how to describe it. "I can't read a single thing from him," she explained. "It alarms me. It's without a doubt _him_ , but it's like… a wall's up now. It feels…" She paused a moment. "It's almost like trying to read a strong telepath, or Data."

She drew her brows together. She couldn't begin to imagine what this could mean.

Deanna went on. "I just thought you should know before you talk to him." 

"I appreciate it."

"He's out on the back veranda," Deanna said. "We'll give you the space you need." 

"Appreciate that too."

After Deanna retreated, Beverly took a moment to look herself over in the mirror. She hadn't seen him or talked to him in about a year, hadn't been in his physical presence for closer to five, and felt a somewhat irrational need to make a good impression. She brushed her hair so she wouldn't look like she'd just been asleep, then she ran her fingers under her eyes as if she could smooth away the fine lines that had formed there over the years. After smoothing her top down, turning to inspect how her trousers looked (not too rumpled), and deciding it was about as good as it was going to get, she headed for the back veranda.

She closed the back door of the house quietly behind herself; it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. She saw the pale form of his silhouette before anything else. He was standing with his arms folded over his chest, not quite in profile but not fully with his back towards her, peering out towards the tall, swaying conifers, and beyond into the stars. Deanna had been correct; from what she could tell, he looked in terrific health; his profile was as strong as ever, his eyes intent on some distant point. At once he seemed to realize she was there, and he swiftly turned to face her. 

Instantly his features softened ever so slightly, and his steely blue eyes lit up. His arms dropped down to his sides. "Hello, Beverly," he said warmly.

Guardedly, she said, "Jean-Luc."

His gaze drifted down then up again, to fully take her in. "You always did look lovely in that." He exhaled, a smile playing on his lips. "It's so good to see you again."

She couldn't say she didn't feel the same. All of her feelings, every ounce of the depths of her love for him, rushed to the surface, particularly because he seemed so much more like the man he'd been before he'd resigned from Starfleet. She reined in the urge to run to him, throw her arms around him, cling to him as if for dear life, but their last parting had been so tense… she couldn't just pretend that it hadn't happened. 

Instead, she defaulted to humour, her preferred defense mechanism. "Imagine my surprise when I reached out to Château Picard and you weren't there," she said smoothly. "You've been a busy man."

Sheepishly, almost shyly, he smiled. "Something came up."

"Understatement of the year."

"I understand you wanted to see me," Jean-Luc continued with typical determination. "I'm eager to hear how your mission went, but I need to talk to you first. I'm glad you let Raffi know where you'd be, because this is something I needed to do in person."

She felt the dread bloom that Deanna's words had seeded. "I'm listening."

He held out a hand in gesture, to indicate that they should sit on the bench swing. Was it going to be so bad she needed to sit down? Without words they sat side by side, and when he held out his hand, she took it without objection.

"In the last few weeks, I've been doing a lot of thinking. Mostly about you, how you were right all of those months ago, all of those _years_ ago, and how (it pains me to admit this) I was wrong—" She couldn't suppress a small smile. "—because I _did_ basically give up and go home to wait for death. I should have listened to you." He squeezed her hand. "I also consciously realized that I'd been pushing you away because it'd be easier on you when the inevitable happened—and before you say anything, I know that was foolish thinking, too. I hope you can forgive me."

The reference to his parietal lobe defect brought her thoughts into laser-sharp focus, though he didn't look at all sick, and he spoke as lucidly as she'd ever heard him speak. Was a complication with this defect the reason why Deanna could no longer read his emotions? She drew in a steadying breath. "Give it to me straight, Jean-Luc," she said stoically. "I'm a doctor. I can take it. How much time do you have left?"

He seemed utterly nonplussed, but then his face split into a smile, utter perplexing her. "Where do I begin?" he said. "This is huge. Literally life-changing. But you deserve to be the first to know, aside from the people who were there on Coppelius."

"Enough with the damn suspense, already," she said sharply. "What happened on Coppelius to change your life?"

He paused, likely to collect and make concise his thoughts. "I'm still me." He placed his hand on his chest. "But this body is a golem."

She thought she had misheard. _Golem?_ She knew the term from Jewish folklore, but didn't think that was what he meant. What _could_ he mean? Lightning-fast, her thoughts rebounded in her head, landing just as suddenly on the connection to the place he'd been, on Coppelius. She suddenly remembered, years ago, Maddox theorizing that a human consciousness might be placed within a synthetic body; she'd thought he was mad. Who wouldn't have? Was it possible that through his clandestine research with Soong, he had been able to achieve what he'd only theorized could be done… and so close to the real thing that no one could tell the difference?

"Beverly. Talk to me."

Her wandering gaze shot back to meet his.

"If you don't believe me," he said, "get your medical scanner. You'll see my heart is no longer duritanium. No further evidence of my previous Borg implants. The parietal lobe defect will never trouble me again."

"Won't be necessary," she said. "Deanna told me she can no longer sense your feelings."

There was that disarming, sheepish smile again. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted.

"What happened?" she asked. " _How_ did this happen?"

"I assume you know where I was."

She nodded. "With Soong and the synths," she supplied.

"Just after I signed off talking with Will on the _Zheng He_ , I blacked out. When I came to, I knew I didn't have long; the headaches had been coming more often, more strongly, more suddenly. Soong presented me with the golem option, and I had nothing to lose. I wasn't ready for the end; I had so much to live for yet, seeing things through with the synths. And, of course, most importantly… I still needed to resolve things with you."

Oh God. "What if it _hadn't_ worked?" she asked quietly.

"I thought about that," he said. "I never would have wanted to leave you without answers. I recorded a message for you. An apology, and a request for forgiveness." Then he smiled. "But you basically just heard it." 

Emotion welled in her chest; involuntarily, reassuringly, she squeezed his fingers, a silent acceptance of his apology and conveying her forgiveness.

"I'm not going to live forever or anything," he continued quietly. "But I should at least get the years I would have gotten without that brain defect."

For one of those rare occasions in her life, Beverly Crusher was at a loss for words. She was relieved that it had worked, that he was with her, that at least the specter of Irumodic Syndrome was no longer looming over his life—rather, their lives. But what was she going to do with this information? What was she _supposed_ to do?

"I imagine you're feeling a bit stunned."

Her gaze had drifted again, but returned to him in an instant at the sound of his voice. "You're a _master_ of understatement tonight," she murmured with a small smile. 

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. Gently, he said, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't know _what_ I'm thinking," she said. 

"Just say whatever is in your head."

"What _ever_ is in my head? Do you know what you're asking of me?"

"Of course I do. We have shared thoughts before. I can handle it."

She took in a deep breath. "I'm ecstatic, confused, relieved. I want to cry, hold you, never let go. I want to pummel your chest until my fists hurt—though I'd never actually do that." He nodded. "My thoughts are everywhere at once. It all feels so uncertain. I mean, are you really still… _you_?"

"I understand all of that, Beverly," he said gently. "I'm absolutely willing to be patient with whatever you're feeling. It's new ground, I admit, but our previous work proving the sentience of artificial life, as well as dealing with the Trill, have given us a bit of precedence." After a thoughtful moment, he added, "Do you still consider me, me?"

The mention of the Trill was as if he had read her thoughts regarding her one-time lover, Odan, back when the symbiont biology of their species was not widely understood. She still had many regrets to how that had ended, and occasionally wondered how Kareel was doing. Finally, she said in response to his question with a nod, "I do." 

…which led her thoughts in other directions. _'Til death do us part_ , she thought—

"Are we still actually married?" Beverly asked suddenly.

"Definitely new ground," he said wryly, chuckling a little. "For what it's worth," he said, bringing her hand up, "I still consider you my wife." Then he pressed a tender kiss against her knuckles. "And I'll be the first to admit I've been a terrible husband these last few years."

A chuckle bubbled up in her throat; this sudden emotional release triggered the tears she'd been holding in, and she felt them stream down her cheeks.

"We've got some things to work out, I know," he continued, bringing his hand up to brush her tears away with his thumb. "You still have command of your ship, and I rather like being out of La Barre again."

"You need to make up for lost time," she said, thinking of just how long this man and his explorer's soul had spent Earth-bound.

"Yes, I do. In many, _many_ ways."

With that, he drew her into his arms; she went willingly. 

"I've missed you," he said quietly, close to her ear. The warmth of his breath, the sure and steady pulse… she never would have guessed he was anything but human. She slipped her hands across his back, returning the embrace.

She sighed, then admitted, "I've missed you too."

They sat there for many minutes, holding one another in a comfortable silence. It felt like a homecoming, and a peace suffused her unlike any she had felt in many moons. She brought her hands up against his shoulder blades, curling her fingertips into the fabric of his shirt, reveling in his physical presence. She wondered how they could move forward, because she wanted so _badly_ to move forward… but the intrusive, disruptive thoughts came into her mind without warning, primarily when thinking of seeing Rios earlier that day. Her spirits, so briefly buoyed, sank again.

"When do you have to go back," she asked resignedly.

He drew away; he knew she meant back to _La Sirena_. "Why are you asking that now?" His tone was gentle, and tenderly he pushed her hair behind her ear in a subconscious, familiar gesture; she knew she was ruining this moment, their warm reunion, and clearly it bothered him.

"When I was in the city for lunch, I met Captain Rios," she said. "I assume the ship is waiting for you."

" _La Sirena_ 's at the space dock in orbit. Everyone's taking shore leave—we've all had a rough time of it." 

She nodded. "Where are you staying?"

"Here," he said. "Kestra said I could use her room." At her likely look of surprise, he added, "I… didn't want to make any assumptions."

"Fair enough," she said, smiling tenderly. "Perhaps we can arrange a casual little party, if Deanna and Will are up for it. I'd like to see Raffi again, meet the rest of your new crew."

"Not _my_ crew," he reminded. "I doubt Deanna or Will would have any objection—I'm sure they'd like to know my enablers better."

She laughed lightly, then raised a hand to trace a line down his cheek. Soong's and Maddox's work really was remarkable.

Speaking of Deanna and Will, she was sure that their long overdue conversation was holding up the evening's activities. They were also probably dying to know what was happening… what exactly the embrace signified, because she knew that Deanna, possibly Kestra, was monitoring the situation from a distance.

"We should go inside," she said quietly. 

He nodded. "I'm glad I got this chance to see you. Talk to you." He paused. " _Recommit_ to you, because I've never stopped loving you."

She blinked back more tears as she nodded. "Damn you, you old fool, making me cry like this," she said, then leaned forward to press her lips to his. One quick kiss, she thought. Couldn't hurt.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

A kiss after so long parted could only erupt into a desperate one that lasted for what felt like an eternity, but could not have been more than a minute or two, at most. As they pulled apart at last, she tried to catch her breath, felt the passion flooding her cheeks with warmth as she touched her forehead to his.

He would not need Kestra's room that night.

………

Deanna may not have been able to read Jean-Luc anymore, but she clearly had no problems reading Beverly. Deanna's broad smile indicated her awareness at the positive turn of events, at seeing the two of them return to the house with looks of contentment on their faces, joined hands, and her residual emotions from that kiss.

"Oh, hi!" Kestra was obviously pleased to see Jean-Luc again. "How's Soji?"

"She's doing very well, and in fact, she'll probably stop by tomorrow."

The look of joy on the girl's face was incandescent. "Wait 'til you meet her!" she said to Beverly. "She's an _android_! Dad said she's Data's daughter!"

"I'm looking forward," Beverly said, then turned to look at Jean-Luc, meeting his gaze in a reassuring way. "In the meanwhile, Jean-Luc has some big news to share." He nodded, then guided them to take a seat in their living room area to explain everything that had happened.

Deanna and Will looked shocked—undoubtedly thinking of the same complications that Beverly had considered—but Kestra acted like he was now a living god come down from the heavens. Her eyes were wide and reverent as she peppered him with all sorts of questions about what it was like to go through the process, how he felt now compared to before…

"Honestly, aside from no longer having debilitating headaches with increasing frequency, I don't feel much different."

"You don't have extended-spectrum vision or anything, do you? Can you run fast, jump high, and bend steel like Soji?"

He chuckled. "Nothing like that."

"I don't like that I can't sense your feelings anymore," Deanna said, sounding for a moment like a schoolmarm. "But I have to admit it's a small price for me to pay to not have lost you forever."

"I'm at a loss," Will said, still clearly, visibly stunned. "If you hadn't said anything, I never would have known. Incredible. Just incredible."

"I'm still the same man I was when I saw you last. Perhaps not literally, but inside, I'm unchanged."

"And we're the only ones who know?" Deanna asked.

"Aside from the folks who were present, yes," he said. "I've put off informing the Federation authorities until…" He turned to look at Beverly. At his _wife_. "Well, Beverly deserved to hear it directly from me. News like that would have traveled faster than light."

"I feel like we should have a toast," said Deanna.

"How about we have a celebratory dinner, instead?" suggested Will.

It was too late and too dark outside to fire up the pizza oven, but within short order they'd replicated a good, hearty stew supplemented with fresh baked bread that Deanna had brought back from town earlier that day. ("Replicated bread just _can't_ compare," she sniffed.) Along with a deep burgundy wine—a glass of berry juice for Kestra—they talked, laughed, and enjoyed themselves like a family that had been parted for far too long.

Because they were.

………

_If you hadn't said anything, I never would have known._

Will Riker's words echoed in Beverly's head as she dozed in the dim of the bedroom. Jean-Luc was warmly pressed against her back, his arm draped lazily across her chest, his warm breath skating along her skin. She absolutely _wouldn't_ have known, given the intimate reunion they had just shared; if there had been any doubts that he was the same man, they now would've been quashed.

She turned over to look at him as he slept; so peaceful, so untroubled. To see him this way made her heart overflow with love. She thought back to when she'd met him that long-ago day: she, fresh-faced and optimistic, 23, barely out of Starfleet Academy, and only just started dating Jack Crusher; he, charismatic and handsome, 42, and had already been the captain of the _Stargazer_ for 14 years. At that time, would she ever have imagined their paths could lead them to where they were today?

 _Decidedly not_ , she thought with a smile.

"Go to sleep," he murmured, not even opening his eyes.

"Are you _sure_ you don't have any superpowers?" she replied, humour evident in her low tone. "I mean, besides the ones you just demonstrated."

He opened one eye, trying to affect a stern demeanour, but he was clearly amused (and pleased to hear the compliment). She laughed a little.

"Have I mentioned that I've missed you?" he asked.

"Once or twice," she said, leaned to peck a quick kiss on his lips, then rested her head on the pillow beside his, so that they were nearly nose to nose.

"I saw Data," he said, so quietly that it took her a moment to parse what he'd said. How could he possibly have seen Data, who had sacrificed himself twenty years ago? "I know that sounds impossible, but when I was in… well, between bodies, in a quantum simulation that was something like a digital afterlife, his consciousness was there with me. _He_ was there with me."

She felt emotion welling up in her throat, and simply waited for him to continue. He wouldn't have mentioned it if he didn't want to talk about it.

"He told me that he had no regrets, sacrificing himself for me," Jean-Luc said. "That he knew the depth of my love and affection for him—he knew how we _all_ felt for him."

"That must have been a relief to hear."

He nodded. "He also had one favor to ask of me."

His tone was so grim that she was almost afraid to ask. "What did he want?"

"Mortality."

It took her a moment to realize exactly what he meant by this. "Oh _no_."

Jean-Luc nodded. "He said that mortality gives meaning to human life, and makes it all the more precious. He… asked me to terminate his consciousness."

"And you did." It was a statement, not a question; she knew that he would have agreed to anything Data asked for, then would have fulfilled the request regardless of his own feelings. 

"It was like losing Data all over again," he said. "I wasn't sure about telling anyone else at all to spare them that pain, but I…" He trailed off.

"You needed to share the burden," she supplied. "I understand. And I'm glad to take it on if it eases your own pain." She took him into her arms to comfort him. "I'm so sorry," she continued, "but, you know, I think Deanna, Will, Worf, Geordi… they'd want to know that Data was at peace with the choice he made. I know you felt incredibly guilty, more than any of us, but we all felt—still feel—guilt over it."

For many minutes he said nothing, until he drew away from her and said, "Once again, you're absolutely right."

"I usually am," she said smugly, though teasingly.

This made him smile, but that smile faded into an expression of deep thought. "You've always been my voice of reason, Beverly. It's one of the things I love about you. I would do well to always keep this in mind."

She tried not to hear his words as an ominous foreshadowing.

………

At breakfast, once Kestra had finished and had excused herself from the table, Jean-Luc explained his interaction with Data in the quantum simulation, and the subsequent ending of his consciousness. They both looked emotional; Deanna lowered her eyes, and Will clenched his jaw.

"I'm glad you shared this with us," Deanna said at last. "I'm sad he's truly gone, but I take comfort in knowing his feelings on his own physical death."

"And knowing that he knew we all cared about him," added Will. Deanna nodded.

Beverly raised her mug of coffee. "To Data," she said in toast. "Truly the best of us."

Smiles lit up around the table as the others raised their own mugs. "Hear, hear."

"Mom! Dad! She's here!"

Kestra's happy, excited voice pierced the air; it was clear to the four adults exactly who Kestra meant by 'she.' Within a moment Kestra reappeared, and by her side was a striking young woman with straight, dark, shoulder-length hair, green eyes, and an intensity about her gaze and expression, until she smiled to see them all.

"Soji," confirmed Deanna, rising to her feet to welcome her; they all rose. "How good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too," she said. She turned. "Captain Riker, hello again."

Jean-Luc spoke up. "Soji, I'm pleased to introduce you to Captain Beverly Crusher of the USS _Mae Jemison_. Beverly, this is Soji Asha."

"It's really great to meet you," Soji said, her eyes further brightening. "I've heard a lot about you."

Beverly felt her brows lift of their own accord, and she looked inquisitively to Jean-Luc. "Have you?" she asked teasingly; after all, it was very like him _not_ to talk about his personal life. 

"He told us we were coming back here," she explained. "And then he explained why, that he had to make things right with his wife… well, I had no idea he even _had_ one."

Beverly could only laugh out loud. "Well, it's lovely to meet you. I've heard a lot about you—I'm sure you know that Data served on board the _Enterprise_ with all of us, and was a dear friend."

"I wish I could have known him," Soji said, her voice laden with emotion. "Clearly, he was an extraordinary man."

"Indeed, he was," said Jean-Luc. 

"So I understand you and the crew are spending a few days of leave here?" Beverly asked.

"We are," Soji said. "We need the rest, but even if we didn't… well. Raffi spoke so highly of you. We're all really looking forward to meeting you."

"Come back tonight, all of you," Deanna insisted, while Kestra nodded enthusiastically. "We'll make an evening of it."

"I'll fire up the pizza oven, the grill, _whatever_ ," Will said. "Break out the good booze. Pretty sure I have a few more bottles of Château Picard lying around here somewhere."

"I'll make sure we're all here," Soji said with a grin.

Beverly had hoped a gathering would allow her to meet Jean-Luc's new colleagues, but now she had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to feel like a laboratory specimen when she did.

………

When they came, they came _en masse_. Beverly was more formally introduced to the captain, and shared a fond hug with Raffi. To her surprise, the team had included a rather infamous figure—former Borg and USS _Voyager_ crewmember Seven of Nine—as well as an eager young warrior called Elnor, a Romulan who'd trained with the Qowat Milat on Vashti. Beverly instantly recalled Jean-Luc's connection with Zani, the Qowat Milat, and the people of Vashti. She knew how rare it was for a male to train with their order.

The last of the crew made the biggest impression on her; a brown-eyed, blonde young woman who regarded Beverly with the same kind of awe with which Kestra had regarded Jean-Luc.

The first thing this woman said, even before her giving own name, was gushing with praise for Beverly:

"I read your paper on cybernetics when I was a kid," she said, taking Beverly's hand and shaking it enthusiastically; _A kid_ , Beverly cringed inwardly. "Utterly fascinating and _totally_ ahead of its time. It _absolutely_ informed and inspired my interest in synthetic life."

Beverly smiled. "That's all enough to make my head swell. I don't get much praise for that paper these days, so thank you, um…"

"Jurati," she said. "Agnes. _Doctor_. Doctor Agnes Jurati."

"Now that we have that sorted out," Beverly said with a light laugh, "thank you, Doctor Jurati."

"And you're Admiral Picard's _wife_?" Her eyes went wide again. "We had no idea he was even _married_!"

"So I hear," she said with amusement. She turned her gaze to where Jean-Luc stood; he was regarding her with great fondness. "And yes. Twenty years, this year. Though too many of them have been spent apart."

She witnessed a very strange expression pass over his features, but Agnes' continued conversation prevented further reflection on what it might mean. 

"Is it rude of me to say that you are exactly as I imagined Jean-Luc Picard's wife might be?"

"On the contrary," Beverly said with a grin, "I'm flattered."

………

The initial awkwardness of the gathering quickly defrosted as the beer and wine flowed, and Will started getting the production line of pizzas, grilled sausages, and veggies moving out to the attendees. The clear blue sunny sky gave way to a dark, star-filled night. Beverly had more wine than she'd had in some time—real wine, not synthehol—and laughed so hard that her face began to ache.

She really wanted to talk to Raffi, though, and found her sitting on the stone bench near the pizza oven holding a glass of wine of her own, and was very, _very_ close to Seven of Nine. _Well, good for Raffi_ , she thought. "Raffi," Beverly said.

"Hm?"

"I don't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to thank you."

"You're not, it's cool," Raffi said, looking to Seven. "Right?"

" _Totally_ cool," said Seven with a laugh. 

"Come on, sit down." Beverly did so. "What do you need to thank me for, anyway?"

"I don't know how you managed to break the news to him—without causing subspace shockwaves, that is—to tell him I was trying to reach him, but whatever you said or did deserves a thanks."

"I didn't do anything special," Raffi said. 

"Doubtful," said Beverly. "The last time I spoke to him, it did not end well. I suspected he might not be happy to hear from me."

"Once an XO, always an XO," said Raffi with a wink. "His initial reaction was… chilly, it's true. But leave it to me to talk sense into his thick skull." She grinned. "He insisted on coming here rather than deliver his news over a comm channel. And after we got here, he came to me before going to you, partly for a pep talk, and partly for a little help to frame his apology."

That certainly explained why he hadn't been here at Deanna and Will's when she returned. She smiled. "I have to thank you for that, too," she said softly.

She offered a little salute. "All part of the service. So when're you coming aboard?"

"Whenever the captain's free to show me around."

Raffi opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all."

The look Raffi shared with Seven told her it was not nothing.

………

A concern had been niggling at the back of Beverly's mind, but she couldn't quite put a finger on what it was until later that evening, when the wine started to clear her system; Beverly realized that Raffi had described his initial response as "chilly" when hearing his wife had been trying to contact him.

Given what she knew now, this response didn't make sense.

Beverly's assumption that he would be reluctant to want to speak to her was a natural one, given their last conversation— _Let's be honest_ , she thought, contemplating her reflection in the bedroom mirror; _it was an argument_ —but if he had taken the time to record a message for her in case the transfer process failed, why precisely then had his response been chilly? She picked up her hairbrush and idly began to tap the end against the bureau as she worked through her thoughts. He'd known how to reach her, even if she had been out of pocket. Why had his message not been at the top her queue—or even _in_ her queue!—when her ship had come out of radio silence, even if only to tell her where he'd be?

Jean-Luc's voice brought her from her thoughts as he came into the room: "They're a good group, aren't they?"

She set aside her train of thought for the moment and began to brush out her hair in preparation for bed. "Good, but indeed motley," Beverly said, recalling Riker's words. "Elnor's a bit on the quiet side for a warrior, and far more open than any Romulan I've ever met; even though you told me all about Absolute Candor, that still surprised me. Rios seems to like to project a hardened exterior, but he's got a kind heart."

Through the proxy of the mirror, she watched Jean-Luc smile and nod from where he sat on the bed.

"And Agnes… I like her a lot, she's got intelligence in spades, but her enthusiasm is _exhausting_."

At this he laughed aloud. "She's not _always_ like that."

"Glad to hear," she went on, smiling, as she began to braid her hair. "It was nice to meet Seven, and great talking to Raffi again. She told me she talked to you before I saw you, so of course I had to thank her for everything." She watched carefully via the mirror's reflection to gauge his reaction. He didn’t seem to have one, in particular, though he did seem preoccupied. She pressed on. "She mentioned you seemed… less than happy to hear from me, and I can't quite square that up with you saying you wanted to make things right with me, to the point of recording a message when you thought you might… not live."

"That _does_ seem contradictory," he said thoughtfully. "But it's not. You can be eager to talk to someone and still be anxious to do so. My recorded message was hasty, spur-of-the-moment, disorganized. When I realized I would get the chance, after all, to speak to you directly… honestly? I was afraid of screwing things up. I had one shot not to absolutely blow it, and I wasn't ready yet. I was still so unsure of how you would react to seeing me again, given the last conversation we'd had."

"Argument," she said with a small smile; the explanation made sense to her, satisfied her curiosity, and she nodded, conveying that she understood. As she twisted a band around the end of the braid, she said, "Raffi also asked when I was coming aboard."

"Did she?"

"Mm-hmm. And I don't think she meant for a tour. Is there something she knows that I don't?"

She turned as he raised his gaze to meet hers at last. "Hadn't gotten a chance to approach you with my idea yet."

She leaned back against the bureau, consciously not crossing her arms over her chest. "What's this idea?"

He sighed and looked away as he waved a hand dismissively. "When I think about it now, it's ridiculous. Forget it."

She smiled impishly. "You should know more than anyone that saying 'Forget it' is the _perfect_ way to get me to latch on and never let go."

He laughed. "How could I have forgotten that?" he said sheepishly. He got to his feet, reached out to take her hands in his. "All right," he said. "I was hoping to persuade you to join me on _La Sirena_."

Her surprise was unmatched. She said nothing, just let him continue.

"You said yourself that we've been too far apart for far too long. This is a solution that lets us be together while out amongst the stars, untethered to the complications that come with Starfleet."

She already knew that the alternative—his coming aboard her research ship—was untenable, and she wasn't about to open that can of worms again. She didn't know how to respond.

"Don't say anything right now," he said quickly, tightening his fingers around her hands, anticipating the words that swirled in her head. "Just say that you'll think about it. And at least come aboard the ship and have a look around before you decide."

She could only nod. The least she could do was think about it. For _him_. The smile this garnered her was bright and beautiful, and when he leaned forward to give her a kiss, what more could she do but accept it with enthusiasm?

###  _La Sirena_ , in orbit over Nepenthe

Well, it was no _Enterprise_ , that was for sure, nor was it even the _Mae Jemison_. A brisk walk could take her from bow to stern, bridge to warp core, in less than ten minutes. Probably closer to five.

Within minutes of being aboard, she learned from Mister Hospitality, the hospitality hologram who guided them through touring the ship, that _La Sirena_ was a non-Federation, warp-capable Kaplan F17 Speed Freighter, for which Rios had acquired several Federation upgrades/retrofits—a transporter, a holomatrix, a basic Emergency Hologram installation (including said hospitality module)—and the addition of staterooms, all of which she had all but taken for granted on Starfleet vessels. She found it slightly distressing that the ship was not actually registered, and in fact, Mister Hospitality said that the dedication plaque had gone missing long before Rios had even acquired the ship.

Still, Beverly tried to keep an open mind. If Jean-Luc had been riding around comfortably for weeks on end, it could not have been too objectionable. 

"I've saved the best for last, and without Mister H," Jean-Luc said with a smile, as he paused in front of a door through which they had not yet passed. She raised a brow and merely waited for him to open the door for her. She had already concluded through a process of elimination that what was behind this door was his own stateroom; even still, she was not quite prepared for what she saw. In fact, she blinked and raised a hand to shield her eyes against the bright sunlight that shone through the window into what seemed to be a perfect recreation of the master bedroom back at the vineyards.

She knew logically it was all holographic projection, but it really pulled at her heartstrings. She realized in that moment how much she missed the beauty of Château Picard in particular—just as he surely knew she would.

"The best of both worlds," she murmured, going close to the window, placing her hand against the pane. She knew she did not need to explain.

"What do you think?" he asked.

She turned back to him. "It's lovely," she said, carefully choosing her words, "but an illusion."

"I know that," he said; not defensively, not angrily, but matter-of-factly. "For now, it's a comfort. A connection. I don't expect to be out here for the rest of my life, but for now, it's what I need." After a pause, he added, "But Beverly… I need you, too."

Slowly, she nodded in understanding.

What did she want? What did she _need_? And did these things align with what he wanted and needed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have borrowed Jean-Luc's superpower from a certain other fandom, ha ha ha.
> 
>   * Fred Pearce's _[Earth Then and Now](https://www.amazon.com/Earth-Then-Now-Fred-Pearce/dp/1613836112)_ can be seen on Thad's desk in "Nepenthe."
>   * A refresher on [shared thoughts](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Attached_\(episode\)) and on [Odan](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Odan).
>   * According to Memory Alpha's page on Beverly Crusher, under [Personal Interests](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Beverly_Crusher#Personal_interests): "Beverly had varied interests in cybernetics ... When the Enterprise-D was docked at Starbase 74 in 2364, she was eager to meet Dr. Terence Epstein, a leading authority in the field of cybernetics. Eventually she published a paper on the subject which Toby Russell considered revolutionary and fascinating."
>   * Info on [_La Sirena_](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/La_Sirena) and the emergency holograms, which are all modeled after Rios:
>     * [Mister Hospitality](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Mister_Hospitality) (Hospitality Hologram; gentle disposition, soft-spoken, very neatly groomed.)
>     * [Emil](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Emil) (Emergency Medical Hologram; clean-cut, English accent)
>     * [Emmet](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Emmet) (Emergency Tactical Hologram; tattooed, messy hair, mostly speaks in Spanish)
>     * [Enoch](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Enoch) (Emergency Navigational Hologram; neat hair, Irish accent)
>     * [Ian](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Ian) (Emergency Engineering Hologram; knit cap, Scottish accent, of course)
> 



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through adversity, to the stars.

### One week later, Infinity Lake, Nepenthe

"Even after fifty-plus years, Beverly, you can still manage to surprise me."

Playfully, Beverly smiled. "The highest of compliments," she said, her own steps in line with his, her hand tucked into his elbow, as they walked down the wharf at the lakeside past rows of docked boats. The sky was cloudless and blue, and the light breeze played along the surface of the lake, shimmering with reflected light. "To be honest, it would feel like a personal… no, a _moral_ failure if I couldn't."

He uttered a sharp laugh aloud at this, spontaneous and mirthful, and it filled her with joy. "Dinner was extraordinary," he said. "What a _gem_ that little place was. And now something more? Are we almost there?"

"Mm-hmm," she affirmed, as she spotted the lean and lanky form of Captain Crandall striding down the pier, presumably from where his own boat was docked. "Ah. Our host for the rest of the day." She raised her free hand and waved to him, just as Crandall caught sight of them. Crandall waved back.

"A new friend?" Jean-Luc asked.

"I wouldn't go that far. More like acquaintance," she replied. "Met him because he brought Kestra a _bat'leth_. He and I were just finishing lunch, actually, on the day I learned you had arrived."

"Hmm," he said, attempting to be noncommittal. She knew how to interpret the tone, though, and couldn't help feeling touched that he could still feel a little jealous after all of this time. Not that he had a thing to worry about, just as she never for a moment worried about him. She squeezed the hand on his arm before stepping away from him.

"Ahoy," said Crandall as he got nearer. As his gaze slid to Jean-Luc, he said, his arm extended for a handshake, "This must be the illustrious and _very_ lucky Admiral Jean-Luc Picard. Captain Rupert Crandall, at your service."

"Pleasure to meet you," Jean-Luc said with a welcoming smile, accepting the handshake. To the casual observer he might have seemed friendly and open, but Beverly could tell he was still wary.

"Well, come with me and we'll be off." 

Crandall turned and headed back the way that he'd come, walking down to the end of the pier to a respectably sized runabout, with an open front area for passenger seating. The stern was emblazoned with the name _The Nuts_ , which Beverly thought was a bit strange for a boat name. Her expression must have conveyed her thoughts, because Crandall said with a grin, "It's old poker slang. Refers to something that's the best, and being out on this boat sure is."

"Do you play?" Jean-Luc asked.

Crandall nodded. "Do you?"

"Not in quite some time," he said. "Used to play with my senior staff on the _Enterprise_ , though I was a latecomer to the weekly game."

"Sometimes Will comes by," he said. "There's a decent group of ex-Starfleet commanders and captains in the local area, and we get together for a hand or two. You should come 'round while you're here."

"Thank you," Jean-Luc said. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a smooth movement Crandall stepped over and onto the boat. "Welcome aboard."

Within a few minutes, when they were on the ship, Crandall invited them to sit at the bow, where Beverly found a small picnic basket waiting; prepared, no doubt, as she had asked him to. Jean-Luc asked without words what the basket was about, as they had just eaten dinner. "Patience," she said, winking. "Come, have a seat. It's just you and me."

As he did, he glanced to Crandall, who was casting off the moorings.

"He's just captaining the boat today," she said. 

Crandall engaged the engine and with that, the runabout was off, sliding smoothly and silently over the lake. The farther they got out onto the water, the quieter and more remote it seemed, like there was no one else around for miles. The days were getting ever shorter, the sun was sliding down towards the horizon, so the shadows grew longer and lit the sky—and the lake—with orange and purple hues.

 _It's as beautiful out here as everyone said it would be_ , she thought, her hair floating gently around her face in the breeze.

She reached and took his hand in hers, bringing him from his thoughts.

"This is delightful," he said. "Thank you." He leaned and gave her a brief kiss, only brief, she suspected, because of the captain at the wheel behind them.

"It's all right," she said, looking over to the bridge; he was reading from a PADD, facing to port and away from where they sat. Jean-Luc looked, too. "He promised to give us some privacy."

"That's very kind of him," Jean-Luc said. "I appreciate the lengths to which you went, arranging our day today."

"It's not for nothing," she said, reaching down to the basket. Inside was a bottle of sparkling wine, a couple of flutes, and a variety of beautifully colorful macarons.

It was only then that Jean-Luc suspected that this was more than just a nice night out. "Beverly," he said, concern suddenly filling his voice. "What is this about?"

She didn't answer; not with so many words. She reached forward for the chilled bottle and expertly peeled back the foil, then pushed at the cork until it popped off. She poured one flute, then the other, and handed one to him.

"Here," she began, raising her flute in toast, "is to the next chapter, to the great adventure that awaits us. Together."

### Three days earlier, Riker-Troi homestead, Nepenthe

Over breakfast, Jean-Luc had casually mentioned that Rios had told him he was taking on a quick transport job local to Nepenthe. "He'll be back in a fortnight," he said. She understood, without his saying so explicitly—or possibly without his consciously doing so—that it would be the end of his shore leave. That she would have to make a decision about her own future and choose the path she'd take.

She loved being the captain of her own ship, but hadn't she just been considering retirement a few short days ago? Sure, she had outright rejected the idea; she'd had no interest holing away in rural France, languishing until death. Since that time, though, everything had changed so dramatically. With his new lease on life, retirement together with him would not be an end, but a new beginning; she could start personal projects like she'd considered before, could reach out to Soong, collaborate with Agnes Jurati, further pursue her interest in cybernetics… 

The more she thought about it, the more his proposed solution seemed so obvious. Why was she so reluctant to agree to it?

While Will and Jean-Luc were at the lake to do some fishing, Beverly posed this very question to Deanna over mid-morning coffee. They sat idly rocking back and forth on the same bench swing on which Jean-Luc had broken his unbelievable news to her. More than just a friend, Deanna was uniquely qualified to give Beverly the best possible advice in this situation, both as ship's counselor on two _Enterprise_ s with her and because of her long and storied history with Will Riker. 

Deanna thought about it for a long while before answering.

"You know, it's been a running joke for years that your stubbornness is paralleled only by his, and vice versa," Deanna said wryly. "But I can't help thinking it's a contributing factor in your reluctance to commit to a decision. This on some level feels like a compromise, a surrender, and I think your subconscious is resisting it."

Beverly swirled the remnants of her coffee around in the cup. She knew Deanna was right; her pride was trying to assert itself where it was not wanted.

"Do _you_ think I should do it?" Beverly asked quietly, still gazing into the spinning milky brown depths. "I mean, is it wise? Is it safe?"

"If you're looking for a guarantee, I'm afraid I can't give you one," she said. Beverly turned to look at her to see the kind expression, the gentle demeanor she had come to expect from her longtime friend. "Being in space is inherently dangerous, even with all of our technological advances, and I'm not as brave as I used to be. Still… all I know is that if Will were to permanently take command of another ship, I'd take Kestra and be right there with him, because I wouldn't want to spend a single day more without him. We spent too many years either physically too far apart, or at arm's length, or as friends watching each other fumble through relationships with other people."

She smiled, then laughed lightly to herself. "Boy, does _that_ sound familiar." She reached for Deanna's hand and gave it a quick, friendly squeeze. "Thank you."

"Always happy to help," she said, "particularly if it rights the course of a ship that's seen too many days on rough seas. If you'll pardon the analogy."

"Not at all," she said. After all, the analogy was far too accurate. 

### Infinity Lake, Nepenthe (continued)

Her words seemed to filter through, and as comprehension dawned, his face lit with incandescent happiness. "Together," he repeated; he seemed uncharacteristically speechless.

She nodded. Tears welled in her eyes, but her voice was strong when she spoke. "Life is just too damn short. We've been given a second chance that we never could have expected to get. Why _not_ clear the slate, start anew?" 

At last, very quietly, he said, "Hear, hear." He raised his flute to touch hers, then together, they drank in the sparkling wine. Their glasses drained, he collected hers and set them both back in the basket before taking her hands in his. "Only twice before have you made me as happy as I am right now—the day of Will and Deanna's wedding, and the day of our own. Somehow, though, this happiness is… something more."

She knew exactly what he meant. They were not on a mission. He was not her commanding officer, so there was no chance he would have to risk her life, or risk a mission's success to protect her. He'd had to make that difficult choice as captain many times before, sometimes to great success, and—as she knew all too well with Jack—sometimes not.

Before she knew it, she was in his arms, pressed tightly to him, his heart near to hers, his breathing irregular. She swore she heard a soft, strangled sob escape his throat. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, then to stroke her hair lovingly.

"You don't know what you've given me," he said quietly, then drew back to meet her gaze. Those grey-blue eyes, intense as ever, were slightly dewy with emotion.

"I have a pretty good idea," she said.

He cupped her face in his hand, seemed in that next moment to realize the enormity of her decision. "What about your ship? Your things?"

"I've already contacted Starfleet," she said, "to initiate the retirement they have been trying to press on me for years. I also talked to Alyssa. She says hello, by the way. She says she'll be happy to pack my things and send them to Earth. Speaking of… what about the château? Have you spoken to Laris and Zhaban?"

He smiled a little impishly, which was odd until he explained. "I was preparing for you to tell me you couldn't do it," he said. "So I had planned a counteroffer: take a sabbatical, join me for six months, a year… whatever you'd agree to. And if you weren't happy, I'd… I'd come back with you to the _Mae Jemison_ , to Earth… wherever you wanted to go. So I contacted the two of them to let them know that I'd be away a little bit longer. Laris told me that they can run the place with one hand behind each respective back, and that I only need focus on making it work with you."

Her fondness for the Romulan caretakers increased exponentially. "That counteroffer was quite the gamble," she said.

"Not really," he said, somewhat nonchalantly. "I was—and still am—quite confident you'll be happy."

If he believed it, then she could, too.

"And Rios is okay with taking on another… crew member? Passenger? What precisely would I be?"

"He's already agreed—as if he would want to keep a man from his spouse. As for what you would be, well, whatever you want to be," he said. "You're under no pressure to render medical services. Even if there were no EMH, Agnes Jurati is a medical doctor, too."

She grinned. "As if you could keep me away if I were needed." She then thought about Rios taking on odd jobs for money… she was so used to Starfleet providing for everything. "Surely we'll contribute towards our stay, though, right? For the expenses we incur…"

"I hired Rios for this excursion," he said. "I'll just have to pay him more." The reality had set in; he was clearly on cloud nine. He leaned back against the seat, then reached down into the basket. "Almost forgot all about these," he said, plucking up a pair of bright pink macarons, offering one to her, then popping the other into his mouth.

"Your family recipe," she said with a grin. He nodded and made a sound of approval. She pointed toward the bottle. "More?"

He reached for the bottle and the flutes. "As you wish."

………

The sky was well into twilight, the stars just beginning to twinkle into existence, when _The Nuts_ approached its berth at the pier. While Jean-Luc enjoyed his position at the bow for a few more minutes, Beverly went aft to talk to the captain.

"I can't thank you enough, Rupert," Beverly said. "It's been the perfect day out."

His grin was a rakish one. "Glad to oblige," he said; in a lighthearted tone, he continued, "Not gonna lie, though. I'm still disappointed I didn't meet you first."

"Technically, that would have required your presence back in… 2347," she said, pausing to mentally tick back to the correct year, so long ago, so soon after her graduation from Starfleet Academy. "On the _Stargazer_. Many, _many_ lightyears from here."

He chuckled. "Right. Will make a note in case I ever get the opportunity to travel back through time." He winked.

As the boat's engines cut out, Jean-Luc roused out of his reverie and helped Crandall to moor the boat. Once back on the pier, Jean-Luc extended a hand towards the man with a genuine smile. "Thank you, Captain, for your time and hospitality."

They shook as Crandall offered an equally genuine smile. "My pleasure, Admiral."

………

It was nice to walk hand in hand up the path to Will and Deanna's amongst the shadowy pines. Neither felt the need to speak in their contentment; it was enough to feel his hand holding her own, strong and steady.

"I'm sure they'll be waiting up to see how things went," Beverly said at last, as they were about to enter the house.

"They knew what you were planning today," he said, coming to a sudden realization. "Of course they knew."

"Of course," she reiterated. "Deanna's a good friend who will always be my counselor of choice. Naturally, she's going to confide in her husband. They both care about us, as does Kestra."

He nodded. "I'd expect nothing less," he said.

As they came into the house, they were met with the same affected nonchalance that they had seen the night of Jean-Luc's arrival. All three were drinking tea and eating a dessert of their own, a flaky fruit pastry dusted with powdered sugar. "All's well?"

"More than well," said Jean-Luc.

"Oh, so you're both going to finally retire and build a house just to the south of here?" asked Will, winking. "Seriously. I'm glad for you both." 

"When are you leaving?" asked Kestra. 

"In about a week," he said. 

"Oh, good—we still have time, then," she said. "I _really_ want to show you what I've done so far." Beverly knew—they _all_ knew—that the girl meant her work at collecting and archiving her late brother's work in fictional world-building and language creation.

"I would be _honored_ ," Jean-Luc said solemnly, placing a hand against his chest. Kestra beamed.

### Three weeks later, _La Sirena_

Beverly had to admit, it was an exhilarating view. She stood at the back of the bridge, her hands resting on the railing behind the captain's chair, and realized at once that it was the first time in a long time she'd been on a ship where the captain's chair wasn't either Jean-Luc's or her own. Strangely enough, though, it reminded her of being on the bridge of the _Enterprise_. The _Nova_ -class science vessel _Mae Jemison_ was much smaller than a _Galaxy_ -class starship, so the bridge was proportionately smaller and its view was much less majestic and all-encompassing. The in-the-round bridge layout didn't, _couldn't_ , afford the same kind of view that the _Enterprise_ 's viewscreen had.

Before her now was not a viewscreen, however, but a window straight out into the stars. She was feeling a little restless; she was still getting used to being onboard this ship, and she couldn't sleep. Naturally she was drawn to this spot. Something about the constancy of the stars helped to ground her, ironically enough.

At the helm was Enoch, the Irish-accented Emergency Navigational Hologram, who routinely piloted the ship during the night shift. Aside from the occasional grumble—that he was meant for short-term emergency situations, not to make up for a shortfall in crew, _dammit_ —Enoch kept to himself.

"Never gets old, does it?"

Jean-Luc's voice so close to her ear broke the relative silence. She turned to look at him. His face was bathed in the icy glow; his eyes reflected the stars; his smile revealed his wonder. He was in his element.

She slipped an arm around his waist, leaned in, and pressed a kiss into his cheek. 

Indeed, this would never get old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Info on [_Nova_ -class ships](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Nova_class).
> 



	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A momentary window back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have said this up front, but thanks to all of my P/C (BONC) peeps throughout the years—this one's for you.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone. 🥰

### Sometime after

_It's an empty room; judging by the slightly unfocused equipment in the background—beakers, pipettes, holographic computer terminals running calculations and projections—it's an empty scientific laboratory of some kind. Front and center is a chair, on which the camera is trained._

_From the side, a man makes his way in, stands in front of the chair, slowly lowers himself into it._

_Jean-Luc Picard._

_He looks tired. Feeble. Broken. Older than his considerable years. He is clearly in pain, given how his brow is furrowed, given the effort it took to take a seat. He also looks deeply troubled._

_He then looks unblinkingly into the camera._

_"Beverly," he says somberly. "If you're watching this, then we'll never see each other again, and for that, I cannot express how deeply sorry I am. I took a chance and it didn't pay off, but the inevitable would have happened sooner rather than later, and there's no way you possibly could have gotten here in time, even if radio silence wasn't in place for your mission…_

_"You deserved better than to receive these words now, far too late, but not saying them at all, not letting you know how I feel, is far more unforgiveable. I hope you can forgive me."_

_He shifts, rubs his temples._

_"To cut a long story short: you were right about everything, and I was a fool not to listen. I was a fool to gamble everything by threatening to resign, when I could have effected far more change from within Starfleet. I was a fool not to join you on your ship, a fool to barricade myself in France and try to push the world away—and worse still, push you away. You. The best thing in my life, and I shut you out because I wanted to spare you the pain of my mortality._

_"I'm not just conceding everything to you because this…" He pauses to point to his head. "…is about to claim me. I sincerely regret so much about the last ten years. Meeting Dahj, leaving La Barre to help Soji—you can ask Will and Deanna what I'm talking about; my time is too precious at the moment to go into it now—has really served to change my perspective." His eyes gloss with tears. "I regret that I won't get to hold you again. Regret that the last conversation we had was… unpleasant. Know that my behavior, my cruel words to you are the greatest regret of my life."_

_Suddenly, he looks up, to something off-camera._

_"I'm sorry. This is shorter than I would have liked it to be and my thoughts are muddled right now, but they're about to start the process and… I would rather no one know I've recorded this for you in case everything goes wrong. I want this to be the one last private thing we share."_

_He takes in a deep breath, just as those tears escaped and rolled down his face with abandon._

_"I love you. Picard out."_

_The screen goes black._

* * *

Beverly sat back in her desk chair as her own tears fell. She knew at once what it was that she'd just found. A file of Jean-Luc's that she had always been curious to see but reluctant to ask for. 

She tilted her head back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and ran her hands over her face to wipe the dampness away as she exhaled a long, slow, measured breath.

_Oh, Jean-Luc._

Until that moment, she had not truly appreciated the depth of his pain, loneliness, and self-alienation before their reunion. Quietly, she said, "I love you, too."

She felt fingers comb over the fine hairs at her temples. Startled, she sat upright and spun in her chair to see Jean-Luc standing there. His expression was gentle.

"Darling," he said, "I told you it was a disorganized mess."

"I just came across it looking for something else…" she said, feeling like she'd been caught swiping candy from her Nana Felisa's special stash.

"It's all right," he said, holding out his hand, which she took, and he pulled her to her feet. His arms encircled her reassuringly and she melted into his embrace. "I wasn't trying to hide it from you; it just didn't say anything I hadn't already told you directly, and I was in such rough shape before the—well, _before_. But you know you could have asked for it any time." 

She drew back to look into his eyes, comparing how he'd looked in the video against how he looked now. The difference was night and day. How close they'd come to being separated forever. "I'm glad I saw it," she said. "And can I say—I'm _extremely_ glad to see it in _these_ circumstances, and not while all alone, in my stateroom out in the middle of nowhere, in mourning and bereft."

He seemed to study her features, almost as if memorizing them; it was some moments before he spoke again. "Not half as glad as I am," he murmured gently, then planted a quick kiss on her lips. "Come now," he said with playful briskness. "Wesley's due any moment—" He ran a thumb over the dampness under her eyes. "—and I'm quite sure he doesn't want to find his mother with red eyes, tear-stained cheeks—"

She smiled, then laughed.

"That came out all wrong," he added quickly.

She tightened her arms around his neck and kissed him again. What better way to counter those damning side effects?

### The End.


End file.
